The Plague
by Archiril
Summary: A cruel illness is sneaking into the White City... Strangely enough it is only affecting elves. Can Aragorn stop the plague before it claims his best friend's life?
1. Wounds, Quarrels and a Plague

**New story, as you can see. Welcome back! There isn't too much to say here now... I do not think it's gonna be one of my best fics, but hopefully, it will give you a good time reading. I guess the story will take 5 chapters, more or less. Have fun!**

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"How did this happen?" A sigh.

"It's merely a scratch, Estel."

"Of_f_ course it is. Save that it's deeper than a scratch, and bleeding more profusely. And it's also broader. Not to mention it needs stitching. So let us just call it a wound, don't you agree? I think that would be a more appropriate term," Aragorn bitout. He was looking fairly irritated, and his cleaning of the 'scratch' was a bit rougher than it could have been. Legolas wisely decided to keep his mouth shut.

For a time, all was silent, save for the occasional splatter of water, disturbed by a wrung rag. The liquid was turning red already. Perhaps it was more than a scratch… but even then, it was barely worth making such a fuss over. And normally, Aragorn wouldn't. Off course, he would stop Legolas and examine him thoroughly before the elf could go to his room, but he wouldn't get this agitated for a mere scratch. Legolas wondered what was going on.

His thoughts were interrupted when Aragorn suddenly rose and disappeared, carrying the bowl in his hands. The elf heard him throwing away the water, before putting down the bowl rather violently. An irritated curse followed. The elf winced. Something was certainly not right here.

After a few moments, Aragorn came back with great steps. Between his fingers, he held a needle and a small thread_._ The top was blazing red, a sign that it had only recently been disinfected in the fire. Legolas groaned, forgetting his intention not to irritate the young king more.

"Is that really necessary?"

"Yes. Now hold still." Before Legolas could react, Aragorn pierced throughhis skin. The elf hissed at the sudden invasion. Not being able to prevent it, he backed away a little. Estel's fingers hesitated for a second.

"I'm sorry," he grumbled.

"No harm done. But I would be grateful if you would be a little more careful," Legolas replied lightly.

"Very well." Gently yet efficiently, Aragorn stitched the wound and stood.

"That should suffice. I cleaned the cut quite thoroughly, so you won't need athelas. From the moment you feel any itching or discomfort, anything at all, you _will_ call me, understood?"

"Fine. Will you nowtell me what's bothering you?" Aragorn looked a little taken aback, but then he smiled sadly, as if remembering the many times he hadn't been able to hide something for his elven friend. Perhaps it was better that way. A listening friend could ease your pain, and offer you healing even before the scars had formed. But still, there was a faint feeling of guilt gnawing on him.

"Tis nothing, my friend. I have been very busy of late. I am sorry to have taken it out on you," he replied vaguely. He tried to keep a blank expression under Legolas' scrutinizing gaze, but he feared he was failing badly. As he was failing everything and everyone lately, a bitter voice added. He turned around.

"Will you please excuse me? As I said, I have other business to attend to."

"You still haven't said what is bothering you so." Legolas' soft voice followed him.

"In case you didn't hear it with your sensitive elven hearing, I'll repeat it for you. I am busy. At least I do not have time to wander around in my garden and sing lofty tunes. I have wounded people to attend to, and a city to rebuild and-" Here he cut himself off, partly startled by his vicious snapping, partly to hide the real reason for his concern. Legolas, however, was not intimidated.

"And what?" Aragorn kept silent. "And what, Estel? I know you. You have been busy before, without losing your temper. What is weighing on your mind?" Aragorn sighed.

"So there is no chance I can just deliver you to your room where you will stay nice and quiet?"

"No."

"I thought so already. But I must warn you, Legolas. You won't like it at all."

"Still, I will help you carry your burden, whatever it might be." The man smiled gently in gratitude, and nodded.

"Tis good to have a friend such as you, my friend." Hopefully it would stay like that after he had seen them. His smile disappeared. Almost immediately. Legolas laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"Mellon nin, you must tell me what is bothering you! I have never seen you this f… sad." The elf didn't think Aragorn would take it well if he called him fragile, but it was exactly what he looked like. He seemed almost… old. His face was drawn, and a sparkle of grey had entered his hair. He had more lines around his eyes and upon his cheeks than Legolas remembered. Estel, his best friend, was aging. And he was absolutely powerless to stop it.

Cease! There are other matters to attend to now! There would be time enough to grieve later on. Now, they'll just had to deal with the problems and enjoy every minute he spent in the king's presence. Beginning with the first. With some effort, Legolas created a waiting smile again upon his face.

"Please tell me, Estel."

"Perhaps it would be better if I showed you." He just couldn't get the words over his lips. The elf nodded.

"Fine. Lead the way." Without a word, Aragorn left the room, Legolas just behind him. The man's steps were quick, agitated, even nervous. Almost angrily, he turned around corners, not even acknowledging the greetings and curtseys he received. To his astonishment and growing concern, Legolas noticed they were heading for the Houses of Healing. Several dreadful possibilities wereswirling around in his head.

"Estel… Arwen isn't…"

"Arwen is in perfect health. She's not the one I'm worrying about. I'm quite sure her human blood will protect her."

"What are you talking about?" No answer. Legolas thought about anyone else who could be lying in the healing chambers.

"Eldarion?"

"No. As I said, I believe having a part of human kind in you can save you, even though it is only a little part."

"You are not making any sense, my friend."

"Perhaps I will, in a minute." Aragorn halted at a door, in the middle of the healing quarters. Legolas knew where the gate would lead to. A grand, elegant hall filled with beds, curtains and cabinets with herbs and books. It had been used during the war to treat the masses of fallen soldiers and injured civilians in, but after peace had come, the wounded men were brought to private chambers, where they would be more secluded. The opening of this door could only mean one thing.

A disaster had fallen upon the city.

Nervously, Legolas stretched his hand towards the door to open it. Even here, he could hear faint screaming and delirious mumbling, and the hasty footsteps of the nurses and healers. The smell of athelas and numerous other herbs penetrated his nose. He feared what he might see, and yet he longed to end this painful ignorance. But Aragorn stopped his hand mid-air.

"Legolas, before you open that door… I must ask of you – no, you must swear to me you will not enter the hall." Legolas didn't even have the patience anymore to ask him why. He was sure he would find out soon. So he just nodded.

"I will." Then he opened the door.

What he saw amazed him. Rows and rows of beds were placed behind each other, and the cabinets where stuffed up with all kind of herbs and bandages, but except for the beds closest to the windows, the hall was empty. At the most, fifteen beds were occupied. Legolas felt anger rising in him. He turned around.

"So this is your idea of a joke? Have me worried from the moment I arrive here, as if something terrible had happened? Or is it more like a payback for me being injured? What were you thinking? VALAR, ARAGORN! I BELIEVED ARWEN OR ELDARION WAS DYING!" His scream echoed through the large hall. Several of the nurses temporarily ceased what they were doing to cast an irritated glance at the elf's direction. Even the coughing and feverish cries had stopped for a few seconds. Legolas mumbled an apology and turned around, shoving Aragorn rather roughly out of his way. The man however, caught his shoulder.

"No, Legolas. This is not what it seems. Look at the patients." The elf only gazed at him furiously, before throwing a quick glance at the beds. He would have almost missed it, had one of the sick not just turned over the edge of his bed to throw up some blood. Immediately, a nurse was there to support him, blocking him from view. But Legolas had seen it. With great eyes, he examined the other patients, and felt his knees almost give way.

"They… they are all…"

"Elves. Indeed," Aragorn nodded solemnly. "You know them."

"My father's messengers. We… He mentioned he had sent ambassadors to the city, to coordinate the initial rebuilding of the gardens. They should have been back in Greenwood a few days ago," the elf whispered. He turned to the king.

"How did this happen?"

The man sighed, and gestured to the room on the opposite side of the hall. It was a small chamber with a table and some chairs. Sometimes, healers came here to discuss a patient's treatment, or to rest a little before visiting the other rooms. Legolas chose the chair nearest the window and looked at Aragorn. He noticed his friend didn't look him in his eyes. Instead, he examined his hands carefully and inhaled deeply.

"Greenwood's messengers arrived here well. They were skilled and courteous in their meetings with men. Under their charge, the gardens flourished again, so well that they asked for other craftsmen from the other elven realms."

"I know that, Estel. You sent me a letter yourself."

"My apologies. I just want to discuss my thoughts. Countless times I have been thinking about how… But I can't find the solution." Aragorns voice trailed off and he seemed deep in thought. Legolas waited a few seconds.

"Mellon nin, pray continue." The man blinked a few seconds and smiled apologetically.

"Off course, I'm sorry. Well, everything went well, and some days ago, one of the ambassadors, Camceleb, told me there was little to be done anymore, and asked my leave to go back to his home. I thanked them for their services, giving them each a purse filled with pieces of silver, but Elentìriel asked me for a flower of the White Tree instead, saying it reminded her of Elentari's light, and wishing to carry such a star with her for eternity, so that she would remember the hope I brought. So I gave her the last fruit of the old tree, for the new one doesn't bear any blossoms yet. Then we parted."

He paused a few seconds, collecting his thoughts.

"That night, Elentìriel came back to me in panic, crying that the others were vomiting blood and beseeching me to help them. I followed her immediately. When I came into their quarters, I found Celemceb, Sulfalas and Nelladel gravely ill. They were brought to the hall. That was two days ago."

"And what about the others?"

"Elentìriel and I examined the sick thoroughly during the night. Since at that stage, I didn't know what was bothering them, I gave them some pain stilling tea and washed their faces with athelas. Then I went to the library to find out what was causing this illness." Aragorn sighed, rubbing his temples.

"When the morning came, more bad tidings reached me. During the nights, other elves had fallen ill. Most of them had worked with Celemceb, Sulfalas or Nelladel, or had been in contact with them in another way – which made me to conclude the illness is contagious. Yesterday, fourteen others were brought to the hall, all of them were elves."

Legolas leant back, staring at the small fire in the room. His thoughts were fumbling over each other as he took in the new information. He was shocked. Elves didn't get ill. That was a law of nature. They could die of grief or wounds, but not of sickness. Whatever was the cause of this plague, it was unnatural.

"What are the symptoms?"

"Apparently, the illness is betrayed firstly by coughing up blood. The patient gets a fever, and can't hold any food or liquid inside anymore. Thence, he weakens, before going into a coma. That's the last stage before death occurs."

"Poison?"

"I thought about that already, but it doesn't make sense. Elentìriel ate the same as the others, and she didn't get sick, and some of the sick elves drank wine with some craftsmen from Lorien, and they didn't get ill." Legolas frowned, and thought back on everything the man had said. Then he remembered something.

"Aragorn, you said that after Celemceb, Sulfalas and Nelladel, fourteen others were brought in. But there were only sixteen beds occupied." Now did the man look up with pained eyes.

"Legolas… Sulfalas died during the night. The illness is extremely contagious and deadly. That's why I didn't want you to enter the hall. And that's why I would like you to leave for Ithilien, and not to come back until this plague is over."

**Hopefully it isn't too bad? Hey, would you like another chapter on Dawn Never Came?**

**xXx Archiril**


	2. The Plague Spreads

**Hey! Three announcements today :)**

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"Arwen, my love, please do try to talk some sense in that stubborn head of his!"

"In all honesty, Legolas, I do think… –"

"C'mon, Arwen, don't tell me you're taking his side too!"

"Yes, she is, 'cause she knows that I'm right! You have to… -!"

"I don't have to do anything! I am not one of your subjects!"

"But he is your friend!" Arwen exclaimed suddenly. The cry from a queen who rarely raised her voice, effectively ended their heated discussion. Both Legolas and Aragorn shut their mouths, and the elf had the decency to look slightly ashamed. Arwen softened her voice.

"We are only worried about you, Legolas. We know nothing about this disease, sa_v_e that it spreads so terribly quickly, and we have no idea whether there is a cure or not. I promise you we will keep searching for one, but you must understand we will be more at ease when we know you are safe."

The elf sighed, not meeting her eyes. He stared out of the window to the plains around the White City, to a place only he could find. Aragorn wondered what he was seeing. Fair Ithilien, only recently reclaimed from the darkness? Or the sick elves who were dying some meters beneath them? Or a destroyed Greenwood, empty and void once the plague will have spread there? For sooner or later, if they didn't find a remedy, the plague would leave the white walls to bring death and sorrow to the few elves still left in Middle-Earth. Still, if Legolas went to Ithilien, they would buy some precious months, in which perhaps they would find a cure, or the illness itself would fade away. The elf's next words however, broke that fragile hope.

"I understand your concerns, Arwen. But can you not understand me? I cannot flee when my people are dying. I am their prince, and it was my father who sent them here! My place is among them, not in Ithilien."

"I am fairly certain none of the elves in my city will resent you if you chose not to take unnecessary risks. They love you, Legolas, as we love you. Do not inflict grief upon us by reckless decisions. Go to your home, and search for a cure there." A pained expression glided over the elf's fair features, and his voice betrayed regret.

"In Ithilien there are only warriors, Undomiel. Of course there are healers too, but they know only how to cure wounds inflicted in battle, or how to make antidotes to different kinds of known poison. Although I do not belittle their wisdom nor their efforts, they aren't as skilled a healer as Lord Elrond or you, Aragorn. If you don't find a cure, neither will they."

"You are not a healer either, Legolas."

"Neither am I a coward." Aragorn exhaled audibly.

"_M_aking a wise decision doesn't question your courage."

"I don't care. I will stay here, in Minas Tirith, with my people." Aragorn opened his mouth to object, but Arwen put a hand upon his shoulder and smiled sadly.

"Let it rest, my love. You know his stubbornness. He will not leave."

"Thank you, Arwen," Legolas inclined his head rather smugly. "Now that this is settled, I would like to talk to Elentìriel."

"Out of the question! She has been in contact with the ill and she might as well be affected herself. It's too dangerous!"

"She has been with them since the moment they became sick. Days have passed since then, and even though other, newly arrived elves have fallen to the plague as well, she still shows no signs! Something is protecting her, Aragorn! And we need to find out what."

"I will talk to her."

"And I will come with you."

"Why are you so determined to die?" Aragorn exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "Since you won't leave Minas Tirith, grant me this one favor. Do not go to her!" Legolas sighed, and remained in thought for a few seconds. Then he looked up, calmer then he had been during the discussion.

"Let us agree. I will not go into her room, but I will stand upon the balcony, in open air. The chance that I will become infected is reduced to a minimum then. Can you live with that?"

"Not really, but I guess it's the best option I get. But I demand that you give me time to examine her first. If I find only the slightest indication she might be sick, our deal is off. Done?"

"Agreed."

"Then let us go. I want to get this over as soon as possible."

They couldn't find her immediately though. Elenìriel seemed to spend most of her time caring for the patients, and that afternoon, she had gone to the lower levels of the city, to see whether there were any herbs on the markets there that could help the ill. It was evening when she came back, a basket in her hand filled with scented flowers and fresh herbs.

Her face became pale with shock when she saw Legolas standing upon her balcony –because of her lateness and her sudden entrance, the two friends were already in her room waiting for her, so that Aragorn hadn't the chance to examine her before allowing Legolas near her. He prayed that the fresh air would prove healthy enough. Elentìriel didn't seem to agree with his thoughts though. She backed away, as far as she could from Legolas, and threw an accusing glare at Aragorn.

"My lord! You shouldn't have come here! You could become sick, and what then? I really do not understand how you could have let him come here, Estel!" she rebuked the man. Clearly, his new status as king didn't impress the she-elf who had played with him when he was only a little child. Aragorn sighed.

"I think I could rather drag a mûmakil through a river than dissuade Legolas to do something when his mind is set upon it. You know that."

"And besides, you're spending a lot of time with the ill as well. Are you not worried you will get infected?"

"I have been with them for so long. If the Song had wanted it, I would have fallen ill a long time ago. But apparently, I am protected. Do not ask me for what reason, for I do not know." Her voice was sad as she spoke, and made it clear she would have rather shared the fate of her companions and friends than to helplessly watch them suffering, unable to prevent it or to sooth them. Legolas moved closer to comfort her, but she backed away again. Aragorn pointed at the elf.

"You. At the balcony. Don't you dare to enter this room." Legolas let out a long-suffering sigh, but complied. Arms crossed, he ignored Aragorn and looked at the she-elf.

"Elentìriel, is there anything that distinguishes you from the others? Anything that might have protected you?"

"I have been thinking about that question since Celcaleb, Sulfalas and Nelladel fell ill, but I can't find anything. I have eaten what they ate, I have drunk what they drank, I have slept near them…" She frowned. "The only possibility I can think of… But that would be ridiculous… "

"What? Elentìriel, whatever you think, you must tell me. I need to know everything!" Aragorn exclaimed.

"Well…" she hesitated, looking around in the room. Then, she slowly walked to a small closet, and after a moment of deliberation, she opened a slide and took something out of it. Her fingers cherished it as she showed it to the two friends. Aragorn's eyes widened a moment in surprise, then he nodded thoughtfully.

"Of course," he mumbled. "The White Flower. That _w_ould explain it." Elentìriel though, still seemed doubtful.

"Do you think so? It has been in this closet ever since I received it from you – I didn't dare to take it with me so unprotected. Could it protect me even from here? And why does it only shield me then, and not the others? They have slept in this room too."

"I cannot give you the answers you seek, I fear. But I have the feeling the flower has something to do with your… resistance. I must go to the halls of herbs and flowers, see whether there are more of these. Perhaps an extract of it, or a powder could prove the key to healing."

"Am I allowed to come with you, or do you fear I will become infected by being near herbs that might possibly heal the ill?" Legolas asked dryly. Aragorn raised an eyebrow.

"If I said you couldn't come with me, would you obey?"

"Of course, Elessar," Legolas grinned, "but perhaps you should know that I would take that opportunity to do a little research myself."

"In that case, please come with me, so that at least I can keep an eye on you."

"I'm not a little elfling anymore, Estel."

"Then stop acting as one. Are you coming?"

"Why, here's a grumpy one," Legolas snorted, yet he quickly followed the king through the marble corridors. Within a few minutes, he found himself before towering closets and chests filled with all kind of herbs and flowers. Some were so rare that even the wood-elf didn't recognize them immediately. He turned around in awe, taking in all colors, every structure, every petal, every scent.

"Where did you find all these plants?"

"Travelers, expeditions, traders, Rangers, elves. Some of them Gondor even bought from Saruman, before he fell into evil," Aragorn stated matter-of-factly, concentrating on a high, wooden closet with large windows of glass.

"Now that you're here, you can help me searching. We're looking for a silvery flower, almost as big as your hand."

"I know what a blossom of the White Tree looks like, thank you for your trust in me," Legolas retorted lightly, and let his eyes wander over the numerous shelves and pots. Almost immediately, he spotted numbers of white and silvery herbs and petals, but none of them had to specific form and structure the blossoms of the blessed tree had. Patiently, he turned to another closet, and then another. He opened ancient chests with the rarest of plants, covered with dust and cobwebs. He checked closed jars and turned around bouquets to see whether he hadn't missed a flower. Then he started from the beginning again, even though his eyes were burning and he was slightly dizzy. It was so hot in the room! He wondered whether the heat helped the plants to endure.

Dawn was approaching when Aragorn sighed and straightened.

"This is pointless. If there had been any flowers stored here, we would have found them already. Our only chance is to go to the White Tree."

"I thought you said he didn't bear any blossoms yet."

"I know. But what other option do we have? If will not give up this possible medicine before I know for certain we cannot make it."

"Fine," Legolas sighed, "lead the way." He really didn't want to go to the Tree. He was fairly certain he hadn't seen any blossoms on the grey branches, and he was tired. A bone-deep drowsiness seemed to have slid into his limbs, and he only wanted to go to sleep now. But Aragorn didn't dawdle. Already he had gone through the door and was hastening towards the courtyard. Yawning, the elf followed.

When they arrived, his suspicion was confirmed. The young tree stood tall, his branches stretched towards the grey sky, his crown proudly held high, but his forest green and silver leaves hadn't jewels woven between them yet. Not one flower adored the canopy.

Groaning, Aragorn stared at the symbol of the city with desperate eyes. They had been so close! It could have saved so many lives if there had been only one flower. But it seemed the Valar had abandoned them. He cursed loudly and fell upon his knees, knocking with his hand against the marble stones, the tension of the passed days finally taking its toll.

Legolas didn't notice it really. He just let himself slide down along the trunk and closed his eyes. The wind caressed his face with cool fingers, refreshing his burning head. He sighed softly.

_Elf. _A content voice filled his head. Legolas smiled lightly.

_Blessed tree, _he answered, _may Yavanna caress your leaves and give you an healthy trunk_. Somehow, the traditional words didn't seem quite right, as if he had forgotten words, or replaced them by less lofty ones, but the tree didn't seem to care. His song turned questioning

_Your friend. Why is he… raining? _Legolas opened one eye. Indeed, it seemed that Aragorn was weeping a little. He frowned in pity, but he couldn't bring himself to get over there and sooth him. He was so tired! **  
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_He needs a flower of yours._

_Why?_

_Because it can heal sick elves. _The leaves rustled in amazement.

_Elves are sick?_

_Yes._

_And my blossom can heal them?_

_Yes. _The tree kept silent for a few minutes. Just as Legolas thought he wouldn't answer anymore, a sad voice echoed between his ears again.

_No blossoms. Too early. _Legolas sighed, but stroke the elegant trunk gently.

_I know. _A shadow fell over the elf's face. Surprised, he opened his eyes. Aragorn was kneeling before him, worry in is eyes.

"Legolas? Are you alright? I have been calling you for quite a while. We should go back inside, get some sleep before we go to the library again."

"I'm sorry, I was talking to Telperionion. He cannot give blossoms yet, Estel. It's too early. We need to search for another medicine."

"I understand," Aragorn sighed. He kept staring sadly at the ground for a few seconds, then he shook his head and stood, extending a hand to help Legolas up.

"Com'on, let's go inside." Legolas took his hand, but all of a sudden, he withdrew it quickly as he fell into a coughing fit. Faintly, he heard a cry of horror, but he couldn't answer it. All he could do was trying to get some air into his starving lungs. He gasped desperately and fought to control his coughing… and then it was over. In horror, he stared at his hands. A shocked gasp arose from Aragorn's lips. His fingers were dripping with blood.

The White Tree hadn't protected him from the plague.

**Cliffie! Don't kill me! **

**And don't forget our code ;)**

**As usual, please review :) I appreciate all of them! :)**

**xXx Archiril**


	3. A Letter from Ithilien

**I do apologize for the long wait. Due to certain circumstances, I was unable to upload this chapter until now. Therefore, I decided not to wait until Christmas to give you this one - consider it as an early present :)**

**For all my partners-in-crime (I think you will know what that means ;)), thank you very much to help me with that little experiment! Your code-words brought a smile to my face everytime I read it! Thank you very much! :)**

**Oh, and guess what? THE WORLD DIDN'T END, meaning we'll have lots of opportunity to finish this story... and start the next one about Legolas and Kìli. Now who's excited for this one? :P**

**BETA: TheButterflyCurse996**

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**Angelfabeth: Mmm, there are more stories in which trees are speaking :P I mixed up some of the elements :) Jolly thank you! :)**

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It was such a pitiful sight that Aragorn almost wept, if his healer instincts had not prevented him to show emotion. A lithe form was lying unmoving in the bed, his face almost as white as the sheets that covered him. His golden hair was spread upon the pillow, but it seemed pale and lifeless, just as his kin, even though the sun was caressing it gently. His normally playful eyes were closed.

Aragorn held in a deep breath, thinking of anything else he could do to ease Legolas' suffering. Truth to be told, the elf hadn't showed any signs of discomfort yet, but Aragorn knew that would not last long. Soon enough, Legolas would wake up from his unconscious sleep, and before long, the coughing and vomiting would begin, weakening him, before sending him into a sleep of death.

Perhaps it was a blessing that soon after the discovering of the illness, the elf had fainted, leaving Aragorn behind, bewildered and in a primary state of panic. Within minutes, he had scooped Legolas in his arms and brought him to the Healing Hall, before laying him in a clean bed near one of the great windows.

He should awake soon now. A gentle breeze was refreshing him, bringing back some color to his face, even if it was only a shy blush, barely noticeable. Softly, Aragorn laid a finger upon his fair features, and traced his cheekbone so very lightly, all the way down to his lips, and his chin. Then he went back up. Just as he was about to reach out to his nose, Legolas' eyes fluttered open.

Aragorn's heart clenched as he watched the turmoil on the elf's face. The normally so bright and playful eyes were confused now, and clouded, and his cheeks were rapidly becoming flushed with a swiftly rising fever. The elf blinked up a few times at him before he managed to focus on the man's face. Then he frowned.

"Estel?" he asked. His voice sounded so uncertain, so doubtful, as if he was afraid that the king was nothing but a dream. Aragorn nodded and grabbed the elf's hand, wishing to prove him that he was real. He even managed to smile lightly.

"Yes, Legolas, it is me."

"Oh." A small laugh graced his face for a few seconds, then –to Aragorn's horror- he closed his eyes again. Quickly, the man shook him gently.

"No, Legolas, you cannot go to sleep just yet. You first have to tell me how you feel." The elf was silent for a few moments, while he processed the words in his mind, and his answer was short and weary.

"Tired. Want to sleep."

"But you can't! Not yet. Stay with me a little longer, my friend."

"Why?"

"Because I wish to ask you some questions." Legolas thought about that, then nodded tiredly.

"What do you want to know?"

"Do you feel nauseous?"

"Yes."

"Feverish?"

"Yes."

"Pain?"

"Yes."

"Where?" The elf vaguely gestured to his chest and belly, before letting his hand fall back onto the blankets again. With dread, Aragorn noticed how weak and absent-minded his friend had become in a couple of, that he even did try anymore to hide the extent of his discomfort. Even now, he was silent again, and his eyes were closing. Gently, he shook his friend again.

"Legolas?" The elf sighed heavily, faintly irritated.

"What?" This made Aragorn pause. He really did not want to see Legolas succumbing to that dead-like dormancy anymore - the paleness of his skin or the labored breathing or the weakness in his limbs had shocked him more than he could have imagined – but he couldn't keep the elf awake forever. He was being selfish, and he had to stop it. So he just shook his head.

"Nay, tis nothing, my friend. Rest a little. You will need your strength," he added softly. Legolas didn't seem to have heard it though. With a definite relieved expression across his features, his eyes slid closed again, and was fast asleep within seconds, leaving Aragorn behind the Healing Hall, disappointed and frustrated.

He had to find a solution! There had to be a cure! Again he searched his mind for any clue. He relived dialogues with the sick elves, with Elentìriel, with his father. He browsed through the books of herb-lore, both in Rivendell and in Minas Tirith. He thought about ancient malices, and tricks of the enemy. So lost he was in his thoughts, that he didn't hear Elentìriel approaching until she laid her hand upon his shoulder.

With a stifled curse, he jumped and turned around, only to face the sad eyes of the she-elf.

"Elentìriel! Please forgive me, you startled me."

"I understand. It is I who should be apologizing," she replied with a soft voice, but she didn't look at him. Her green eyes were scrutinizing Legolas. Aragorn recognized the shock and grief he had felt, but there was something else too, a sharp and bitter emotion, that could destroy the soul. Guilt. Before he could speak of it, Elentìriel broke the silence.

"He looks so fragile, Elessar." Her whispering voice was filled with anguish, and a lone tear escaped her eye. "I never saw him so vulnerable. He looks like a frozen flower – one that will shatter at the slightest touch. Estel, I…" Her voice trailed off, and she closed her eyes for a second. Gently, Aragorn took her hand.

"Do not despair, Tiri. Legolas is strong. He will not let this plague win."

"So was Sulfalas. So were so many others here. They were warriors, Aragorn! They have fought and survived the Shadow for such a long time, they have battled foes greater than you can imagine, and now they are dying like children! What have we done to deserve this? Valar, I curse you." Her last words were whispered, as if she didn't dare to speak such poisoned words aloud, yet the venom in them was clear. Her eyes shone with a bright fever of anger. Aragorn only pulled her closer, until he enveloped her trembling body within his arms. She struggled only briefly, before sighing and leaning against him.

They kept standing there, minutes passed, in a silent wake alongside their ailing friend. It was Aragorn who broke the silence.

"Do not curse the Valar, Tiri. They cannot alter the Song. It will be us who will have to find a remedy. And in order to do so, you'll have to free your heart of anger… and guilt." Abruptly, she pulled away.

"I know not of what you speak." Nervously, she tucked some hair behind her ear, but let one side fall before her face as a curtain, that veiled her downcast eyes. Aragorn however, gently pushed it out of her features.

"I think you do. You think it's your fault Legolas is infected, don't you?" His voice was soft and compassionate, but Elentìriel didn't take notice of it. She only paid heed to his words, and heard condemnations and anger in them. Weeping, she bowed her head, yet her voice was passionate.

"Yes, my lord, it is my fault. It is my fault, even though I didn't want it. Now punish me as you wish, I will accept whatever fate you lay upon me. For it is my fault, my fault only and my fault alone, that Legolas is lying here! Alas, that I should have lingered on these shores only to see our prince suffering this fate. Alas that I have survived in the darkness so long! Better had it been if I had died defending my home, so that I would never had the chance to kill him!" Now finally she looked at him, her eyes dark with despair. Slowly, she fell to her knees, her gaze never leaving his, and she spread her arms in total surrender.

"I am at your mercy, my lord. Punish me as you wish." Her voice was dark and low, no longer silken, but raw in her grief. Quickly, Aragorn bend and helped her up.

"Please, Tiri, don't do this. It's not your fault. How could it? You haven't…"

"I was the one who had infected him, Estel," she moaned, tears running openly over her face now. "I have been in contact with the ill, and I have given him the plague! Valar, why am I still healthy? Why do I have to be the bode of such tidings?"

"Tiri, Tiri, hush now, my friend. No-one could have foreseen this. If anyone is to blame, it would be me, for allowing him into your room –or rather, on your balcony. You had no say in this. Hush, Tiri, please. Everything is going to be alright, I promise. We'll find a cure. Hush now, penneth. It's gonna be alright." Softly, he took her in his arms once again, and rocked her slowly. And there, she finally gave in. Sobbing, she clutched unto Aragorn, burrowing her face in his clothing. Her fingers clasped the soft silk, refusing to let go. Aragorn only held her closer, and comforted her.

Their blessed silence was broken when a messenger entered the hall. Faintly worried, Aragorn noticed he bore the white tree and the moon of Ithilien. He released Elentìriel and turned, acknowledging the young man's reverence with a nod and bidding him to speak.

"My lord, lord Faramir of Ithilien sends you this message with haste. I was not informed of the content, but I will deliver your answer with all speed," the man spoke respectfully. Aragorn hid his amazement. A messenger, who did not know what message he was carrying? It must be a dire situation indeed. He took the scroll and unrolled it.

February, 14th in the Year 3025 of the Fourth Age

Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien  
Adab Ithil, Ithilien

Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King of Gondor and Ithilien  
White Palace, Minas Tirith.

My lord,

It is my sad duty to inform you of the sudden death of three elves who dwelled in Ithilien. The cause of their passing is unknown, but it appears as if they have been affected by a strange illness.

The three elves were part of a delegation that was sent to the other elven realms to inform their lord and ladies of the new rule of prince Legolas. After they had fulfilled their duties, they returned to Ithilien. Several days later, the first symptoms showed up. The elves started coughing up blood, and a fever raged through their bodies. We treated them the best we could, my lord, but to no avail. All three of them passed away this night.

Since their return, other elves are beginning to show the same symptoms. Already, there are at least two dozen in the healing halls, and their number is increasing. I beg of you, my lord, send aid as soon as possible, for otherwise I fear this plague will sacrifice the lives of many elves.

Yours sincerely,

Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien

PS: Please don't tell Legolas about this letter. I would not wish him to worry, and certainly not to come here while the plague is still spreading. Keep him there in Minas Tirith, Aragorn. Do not let him become a victim of this illness, until we know more about it. And please, send us aid as soon as possible. Too many elves have died already.

Faramir.

Aragorn felt a heavy despair welling up inside of him. The plague was spreading! They had done everything to contain it within the White Walls, and yet it seemed as if some malice had carried the illness away, bringing it to the other elven realms. A bode of a cruel death.

"Estel? What is it?" Elentìriel had seen the sorrow across his face, and leaned closer now, peering curiously at the letter, yet she did not read it. Sadly, Aragorn handed her over the parchment. Her eyes flew over the words, widening in shock. By the time she had reached the end of the letter, her mouth was half-opened and her face pale. She looked up in shock.

"Estel… The delegation… they must have reached Eryn Lasgalen by now!" Aragorn was still too much in an icy terror to grasp the implications of what she said. He only nodded.

"Yes. And what?"

"They must be infected also, Aragorn! They traveled with those ill elves! Valar, the plague has reached my home! What do we have to do now, Estel? What can we do?" But Aragorn couldn't answer, for in his mind, visions arose.

Visions of a deserted Rivendell, without the merry singing and feasting near the Anduin River.

Visions of Lothlorien, finally conquered by evil, the golden mallorn-trees withering.

Visions or Mirkwood, his best friend's home, inhabited by spiders and orcs, who were roaming the halls of the elven king.

Visions of Legolas, laying deadly pale upon his bed, his hands folded across his chest, his eyes closed, his breast not moving – never to wake up again.

**Did I already mention how honored I am by your reviews! I love each letter of them! Thank you so much for your kind responses and corrections and tips! I love you! Merry Christmas to ye all! :)**

**xXx Archiril**


	4. Remark (NOT A CHAPTER)

Not a new chapter, though it's in progress ;)

**I wish you all a very Happy New Year and a 2013 full of wonder! :)**

xXx Archiril


	5. Culumalda and Faramir

**Okay, I did not manage to give this on New Year's Eve, but see it as a late present then ;)**

**I have to warn you though... Monday the exams are starting. They will last until 31th of January. I will keep on writing, but I guess the updates will come even slower then now... *sigh* too much to do! So I want to thank you for your patience, and assure you I will not abandon this story. i keep working on it every day! :)**

**BETA: Thewayfaringstrangers**

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**aidan1999: In a moment I will be blushing ;) Thank you for your support. And don't worry, I'm not a native speaker either :P What's your first language?**

**C. : Thank you! I hope it will intruige you a little longer ;)**

**ElrondofImladris: Happy New Year to you too! :) And Hobbit Day (when is it and why is it that day? :P)**

**Epic Elven Warrior Princess: I'll tell Estel ;) But I'm sure he doesn't want Legolas to die either, so he will prevent it... if he can.**

**Jasper6509: Well, I would tell Aragorn, but I fear he is too stressed now - but he seems to be doing everything he can to save them! :)**

**Lazy Gaga: Thanks! I hope you'll like this chapter too :P**

**ShadowHawq35: You've made your point ;) Thank you!**

**Squiddy the Beth: That explains a lot :P I'l very glad you like it! I'm doing the best I can, and it encourages me that people think it's enough :) Thank you! :)**

**TheButterflyCurse996: Hihi, thanks for reviewing anyways ;) So, just to be certain... If I kill Legolas... I die too? Painfully? *swallows difficuly***

**Ynnealay: Ever the first reviewer ;) Well... Yes and no. In years, she is a lot older than Aragorn. She was mature already when the man was born, and she often went with Legolas as one of his guards to visit Imladris and Estel. But mostly she lives in Mirkwood, fairly sheltered. She has seen battle of course, but most of the time, she serves in the palace, or accompanies Legolas. Aragorn has much more experience with life and pain and grief, and therefore, on these moments, he takes on the role from an older brother. ;)**

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**Culumalda and Faramir  
**

"When will he come?"

"He is coming as swift as his horse can carry him. Please, Tìri, he won't get here sooner just because you are looking for him all night. Go to bed. Get some sleep. You look as if you need it." Elentìriel shot him an irritated look, but she didn't move from her spot near the window. She had been standing there ever since Aragorn had called a bode to ask Faramir at court, and not matter what the man did or said, she would not be convinced to leave the place. Aragorn sighed.

"Tiri, even when Faramir arrives, he may not be able to provide us the answers we seek. It's a gamble. And when it turns out wrong, I'll need your quick mind to help me find another solution. You'll be of more use when you are rested." She snorted.

"Tells the one who hasn't seen a bed for at least three days." He couldn't really find an answer to that, so he just shook his head and sat down behind his desk, eying the Faramir's letter again, trying to find any clue.

The elves from Ithilien and those from Minas Tirith hadn't been in contact with each other – at least not recently before they got ill. Therefore, there had to be an external source of the plague, one that had infected both Celemceb, Sulfalas or Nelladel as the elves from Ithilien's delegation. He prayed fervently that Faramir knew enough of their roundabouts to find out what this source could be.

"Estel!" Abruptly, Aragorn looked up, only to find Elentìriel and a young servant staring at him, the first impatiently, the latter rather nervously.

"This young lad has been trying to get your attention for at least a few minutes," the elf continued. Aragorn frowned. He had been deep in thought indeed. Mentally slapping himself, he smiled reassuringly at the servant.

"Yes?" A thought suddenly occurred to him. "Did lord Faramir arrive?"

"No, my lord. Lady Ioreth sent me to inform you of the death of three more elves. She asks what we have to do with their bodies?" Aragorn almost felt Elentìriels anger radiating around her as she heard the servant speaking so carelessly about her dead friends. She stepped forwards, her eyes filled with lightning, every inch as wild and untamed as the Nando she was.

"How dare you speak about them like this! They…-"

"Will be treated with respect. Peace, Tiri. We will lay them in the Icy Cave and inform their families. I must insist however, that no elf will approach their bodies until we know more about this plague." Aragorn almost winced when he found himself at the centre of Elentìriel's glare, but he had had enough practice with Legolas not to appear cowed. He steadily held her gaze, until she averted her eyes, her anger drained. Only then did_ the _the king turn to the young man.

"You heard it. Please tell lady Ioreth that the elves will be treated with the utmost respect. And make sure you lay them upon soft blankets, not upon the cold stone. Was there anything else?" The servant quickly bowed.

"Yes, my lord. Lady Ioreth also wanted me to inform you that lord Legolas is faring worse. She would like you to have a look at him." Before he had uttered these last words, Elentìriel had opened the door and was now hurrying to the Healing Hall, Aragorn in her wake.

Within a few minutes, they were standing at the bed where their ill friend was thrashing around, caught in feverish dreams. A stream of unintelligible elvish words streamed from his lips, and he almost hit Aragorn with his flailing hand. Next to him, Ioreth was patting his face gently with a cool cloth. She barely looked up when the king and the elf joined her, trying to hush the ill prince – and failing.

Quickly, Aragorn sat down next to Legolas and started to softly sing an ancient woodland song that his friend had taught him once. It was written in the Nando-dialect, so he didn't understand every word of it, but Legolas had told him the song captured the blossoming of the trees and the fragile silence of the winter, the pure white of the snow and the scent of the grass, the colors of autumn and the chilly cobwebs of a frosty breath. His mother had sung it to him often. Even now, after all those years, the tune still soothed him.

Slowly, Legolas relaxed, until only a soft whimper or moaning escaped him only every now and then_._ His grasp upon Aragorn's hand weakened. Still, his cheeks were flushed with fever, and the frown upon his features didn't diminish. They had only bought him some peace, nothing more – but it was enough for now.

Only once the elf was deeply asleep, Aragorn ceased singing. He gently brushed some hair out of Legolas' face, taking in the paleness of his skin, and the few drops of blood in the corner of his mouth.

"How long has he been like this?" He held his voice low, _so as _not to disturb the sleeping prince. Ioreth too spoke softly, as she always did near patients, her hands for once folded silently upon her lap, since Elentìriel had taken over her damp cloth to fresh up Legolas.

"About half an hour, my lord. I immediately sent for you. I know how much you care about him."

"That was attentive of you. Thank you." For a few seconds, Ioreth seemed to struggle with her words, unsure whether she should speak her mind, but after a nod from the king, she sighed.

"My lord, I do not wish to cause you more grieve but… he's not doing well. The fever is ravaging his body and making him very weak. I fear his strength will not last long enough to fight off the illness."

"I know. I know, Ioreth. But what can I do? Neither Athelas nor any other herb seems to help." The lady seemed to think for a few seconds, her gaze pointed out of the window, to the North.

"In Ithilien, in the Field of Cormallen, folk speak of a rare tree. Its foliage is red as robins, yet the leaves are of gold. I do not know whether it's the true name, but some old herbmasters and witches call it Culumalda. It is said to have healing powers."

"Culumalda…" Aragorn whispered. The name was familiar, yet he was certain Elrond nor his books had ever mentioned any purifying abilities. But Ioreth knew many practical things about herbs. Perhaps he should give it a try. What was there to lose, anyway?

"Ioreth, do you have some of the bark here?"

"Only a little. It should suffice to make tea from for about two, maybe three days, but only for Legolas."

"Then please do so, but before you let him drink it, show it to me."

"Of course, my lord." Immediately, the woman hurried away, already ordering a servant to rake up the fire, and another to bring some water**.** Ioreth had barely disappeared between the hurrying healers and servants, when a guard fought his way his way to Legolas' bed. He was a somewhat elderly man, his beard and hair already greying, but his eyes wereever sparkled merrily. Even now, he had a gentle expression upon his face, though his cheeks were flushed and his hair sweaty. For once forgetting his manners in excitement, he called the king while pushing his way through the healers.

Aragorn frowned. This was unusual behavior for the normally polite man.

"What is it, Barol?"

"My lord! Lord Faramir has arrived! He's on his way through the city as we speak!"

"That is wonderful news indeed. Thank you, Barol. Please send him to my private rooms when he arrives."

"I fear it's a bit too late for that," a gentle voice intervened. Aragorn looked around, right into the smiling face of his steward. "Good day, my lord. I came as swiftly as I could. How can I be of service?" Releasing a laugh of pure relief, the king enveloped the lord of Ithilien in the arms.

"Faramir. You have no idea how glad I am to see you." The smile disappeared from his face.

"I think I do. So the plague has reached the White City as well? It's a sorry time when elves have to suffer illness and death while they were never destined to do so… But I fail to see why you need me. I'm not a healer, Aragorn." The king sighed.

"I know." Slowly, he moved aside, no longer blocking Faramir's view on Legolas' bed, and watched the emotions playing on the man's face. Confusion. Fear. Recognition. Shock. Anguish. He sat down next to him, stroking the elf's face.

"Valar, Legolas. How long has he been like this?"

"A couple of days. Since just before your message arrived."

"So it wasn't my messenger who brought the plague here?" The question shocked Aragorn. Apparently, the steward had been able to hide his guilt and unease so skillfully, that he hadn't noticed anything until he admitted his fear himself. Or perhaps he had been too distracted… He couldn't let another pay for his worries. He clasped Faramir's shoulder in a gesture of friendship.

"No, my friend. It was not your fault at all. The plague has been ravishing this city long before it came to Ithilien. That is why I sent for you. The elves have been infected by an external source. I want to know everything of the roundabouts of your delegation, to see if we could trace this source. Elentìriel," the elf nodded, but didn't rise, "will match your knowledge with hers."

"That seems like a good idea, my lord. My lady, perhaps we could…"

"He's waking." Immediately, both the steward and the king focused on the pale face in the bed. Indeed, Legolas' eyelids were fluttering as if he was fighting to get them open, and he moaned softly. Next to him, Elentìriel muttered something in the Nando-dialect. The familiar sound seemed to help. The elf quieted, and after a moment of hesitation, opened his eyes. He looked around, rather uncertainly, before focusing blurrily _on_ Faramir. A weak smile showed upon his lips.

"Faramir." His voice sounded so terribly soft and crooked, but to Aragorn, it was the most beautiful noise he had ever heard. Smiling, Faramir sat down and clasped his hand

"Yes, mellon nin, it is I. How fare you?"

"Well enough. Why are you here? Did Eowyn come too?"

"No, she is still in Ithilien. She rules the realm in my name now, while I am here." As usual, Faramir's voice was laced in the gentleness and love he usually bore when he was speaking about his beloved, making Legolas grin softly. It wasn't such a good idea though. The light tremor in his throat turned into an ache, and he started to cough vehemently. Blood trickled down over his cheek, crimson, offensively. Alarmed, Faramir turned to Aragorn.

"What can we do?"

"Help me holding him upright. It will ease his breathing."

"Alright. Good." Forcing down the panic on seeing his strong friend lying here so vulnerable, the young man disappeared to make a place for the ranger who had led men to victory despite the often hopeless odds. Ever so gently, he took Legolas in his arms and let him leaning against him, making sure nothing prevented his breast from filling with air. With a rag, he cleaned away the blood on his lips, and in his ears, he softly sang an elvish song Legolas had taught him – because, though his voice was trembling a little, and it was heavier and hoarser then the elf's, it always helped.

But even with all these careful administrations, it took a couple of minutes before the spasms to lay down, leaving the elf in pain and exhaustion. Feebly, Legolas closed his eyes, letting his head rest upon Faramir's muscular shoulder. When the steward lowered him into his bed however, he fixed his gaze upon the young man.

"I am sorry… for my weakness."

"Don't even dare to apologize, Legolas. You are not weak. You are ill. And we are going to make you better. I promise." The corners of the elf's lips raised slightly, his eyes already losing their fight against sleep. With the merest touch, Faramir closed them.

"Rest, mellon nin. Save your strength. We will be here when you need us." He doubted whether the elf could still hear him though. Legolas seemed to have slipped away into unconsciousness once more.

With moist eyes, the steward looked up at Aragorn. The king had gone to crush some Athelas in boiling water, so that the healing scent of it could help Legolas**'** breathing, and was now putting it next to his bed.

"Has he gotten this ill in merely a few days?"

"Yes. I fear the plague moves with great speed through territories and through bodies. Most elves died between the first and second week."

"Then we have no time to lose." The steward turned to Lady Elentìriel, who had been listening quietly to the conversation. Her sad deer eyes now met Faramir's. "Let us please go to my chambers to compare our knowledge." To his surprise, she shook her head.

"I can't leave him alone here, my lord."

"But you also can't discuss these matters here. For one, it's not the most comfortable environment to talk, and secondly, you will disturb Legolas," Aragorn pointed out. Elentìriel looked as if she positively loathed the idea, yet she could not deny the logic. Even so, she didn't offer up to stand at all. She just sat there, locking Legolas' hand in hers. Aragorn decided to take matters in hand. He addressed Faramir.

"You can use the garden pavilion, if you want. I will send a servant with some refreshments there," the man offered, earning a surprised look.

"I thought you would be coming with us?"

"No, I do not know anything more than Tiri – even less I must admit. I will watch over Legolas and the other ill. Now shoo."

"My lord, I-"

"Shoo. Faramir, Tiri, we cannot do anything about this disease without knowing the source of it. The sooner we find it, the sooner we can start stopping the plague from spreading and perhaps there will be a clue for a cure. If it's poison, it can be used to make an antidote. If not… well, we will surely know more about the sickness than now. So shoo." Finally, his reasoning seemed to work, and an slightly red Faramir and a definitely irritated Elentìriel left the Healing hall.

Aragorn prayed they would find an answer to their questions.

They hadn't quite disappeared when Ioreth came back. In her hands, she held a steaming cup. The scent that arose from it was sweet, yet sturdy.

"The culumalda tea you requested, my lord." Aragorn nodded gratefully and took it. Even though no memory of this tree came back to him now he saw it, Elrond had always taught him to trust his senses. After inhaling the scent, he thoroughly examined the color. Reddish, yet transparent, with no traces of spoiling or darkness. The structure too, seemed all right. It looked like it was safe enough. Still, to give an unknown tea to his sick friend…

"You are certain it is not poisonous."

"No, my lord. But I have never heard of any ill effects." Aragorn stared ahead thoughtfully. Was it worth the risk? Ioreth seemed to have guessed his thoughts.  
"I have drunken it myself, my lord. I had no side effects."

"Elves react different to herbs then we. Some perfectly fine herbs can kill them, and vice versa." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "He seems to be resting peacefully now. Keep it in stock for now. I will decide about it tomorrow. I fear my mind isn't clear enough anymore tonight."

"As you wish, my lord." She hesitated. "Perhaps you should rest a little. You don't look to well." He gave her a wry grin.

"Thank you."

"Certainly**,** my lord. Now sleep. My healers and I will take care of the elves." Without being deterred by his astonished gazes and shocked refutation, she draped a think blanket around him, effectively capturing him in his chair.

"So. Rest. I will wake you when I need you." Then she went of, already ordering some healers around to improve the comfort of the ill. Aragorn smiled wearily. The warmth did well to his already sleepy body, and he found himself dozing off. Perhaps a little sleep would do him well… With one last look upon his pale friend, he closed his eyes.

It was already well past midnight before a loud elven voice woke Aragorn from his dosing. Opening his blurry eyes, he saw Tiri standing before him, her cheeks flushed, her hair disarrayed. Her hands were trembling while she was shaking him.

"Estel, Estel!"

"Yes, I'm awake. What is it?"

"We found it!" Aragorn's mind was still too hazy to grasp the new information. He blinked groggily.

"You found what?"

"We know what is causing this plague."

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**REMARK: A friend of mine has written her first fan-fic. It's not LOTR, but Harry Potter, and centers Peeves. It's written well (if I, as non-native speaker, am authorised to be the judge of that), so you should check it out! It definitely is relaxing and humorous, AND original :) If you've read it, tell me what you think about it ;)**

**Author: Little Miss Disney Geek**

**Story: The story of Peeves  
- I don't know how I came into existence, I do know why I came into  
existence: to reign Hogwarts with chaos. I am Peeves. - Follow Peeves through  
the centuries, from the founding of Hogwarts to the final battle between Harry  
and Voldemort. FIRST FANFIC!**

**Rated: K**

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**I'm off now, working on the next chapter. I'll post it as soon as I can! Until then! :)**

**xXx Archiril**


	6. Finding the Cause

**This was quick, wasn't it? *proud grin* It's a bit shorter though - I wanted to make it longer, but this ending was perfect :P I guess the next chapter will not take long - I have some free time during the exams :)**

**Thank you for your wonderful reviews once again! :) **

**BETA: thewayfaringstrangers**

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**Aqua Nerd: Oh no, please don't drop dead here! Are you alright? You need some water? Keep breathing, that's the key! Breathing! :P**

**Epic Elven Warrior Princess: ... Perhaps :P**

**Evenstars: Well, this was soon, wasn't it? :P**

**Jasper6509: No. Mine. *grabs Legolas and holds him protectively, Jack-Sparrow-style* :P But who says they HAVE the cure? :P**

**Lazy Gaga: Yeah, I love cliffies... (OMEN!) :P**

**roseandfudge: I think Aragorn would quite agree with you :)**

**Schiffer: I got the next update - though i'm not sure whether you'll like this ending ;)**

**ShadowHawq35: Any particular guesses before you start reading? :P**

**Squiddy the Beth: I'm glad you liked the 'shoo' :P I sometimes have those images in my head, and even though they can be odd sometimes, they just make sense to me... but most of the time not to the others :P So I'm glad you like it! :) You can hug him once we're back in the city ;)**

**TheButterflyCurse996: Several times, if I recall well :P If I only wasn't so forgetful! *evil grin* Wth, did you study biology lately? Pathogen :P I'm but a poor linguistic girl :P Don't throw such horrid terms at me! :P**

**Wood elf luver: Hahaha! I just read your review over and over again! :P You're just crazy :P Where did Taylor Swift come from? :P But I agree with grr :P You're amazing! I loved every letter of your review! :)**

**Ynnealay: Okaaaaay... I'vegoneoffhidingintheclosetse eyoulaterbye! *runs to the closet, locks it and swallows the key* Tell me when it's safe again! :P And btw, thank you for reviewing my friend's story, she found it so sweet! :)**

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**Finding the Cause  
**

"So this is the source of all evil. We should have expected it, I guess." Aragorn nodded, but didn't break the silence that was hanging heavily over the green hill. It was still morning, and the mist had not yet vanished in front of the sun, mysteriously covering the woods… and their destination.

After all, it hadn't been too difficult to find out where they had to go, Elentìriel had told him. Since Legolas had been absent, Faramir had taken over the rule over Ithilien, and had seen to his duties quite thoroughly. One of them was diplomacy with the other realms, such as the delegation Legolas had selected to announce his new title – a necessary evil, since the elf prince didn't care for his status, but his father had threatened on locking him up if he didn't take up his new rule officially.

Therefore, Faramir had invited the elves for dinner, to discuss their route and message in detail. They had gone to Mirkwood first – even though the steward had done everything to dissuade them. From Ithilien, they would have to travel straight up North, which would lead them to the old fortress of Dol Guldur - a place that even now, after Sauron's defeat, was not safe. But the elves had insisted, saying that they would honor the king of Eryn Lasgalen by bringing him the official news first.

At that point, Aragorn had jumped out his chair and was already throwing all kinds of herbs and other useful things in his bags to go storming off to Dol Guldur, when Elentìriel had stopped with a puzzled gaze.

"Where are you off to?"

"Dol Guldur. The infection must have been spread from there – the evil must have been mutated so that it now not affects the nature around it, but the elves themselves."

"Good reasoning," she had answered with a smile, "though you forget one thing."

"What?"

"Neither Celamceb, Nelladel nor Sulfalas have been near Dol Guldur, or even Greenwood. They can not have been infected in this way."

"Oh." Aragorn had fallen back in the chair. "Then where does it come from?"

"Perhaps if you would let me explain…" He had waved his hand impatiently, urging here to go on. So she had told that after Eryn Lasgalen, the delegation would travel to Rivendell, and then to Lorien, whereupon they would follow the mountain edge through Fangorn, to sing their joy for the new prince to the trees and Ents, before they would leave the forest to go to Rohan.

"But that would lead them…"

"To Isengard. Exactly." And now they were standing here, looking down at the dark tower. It had been long abandoned, since Saruman had died, and nature was beginning to reclaim its ground, yet the cold aura was still present. No vines dared to touch the obsidian stone, nor did any grass _grow_ near. And the silence was overwhelming. It was as if nature herself was holding her breath, recoiling from the spoiled earth.

"Not particularly a welcoming sight, I have to say," Elentìriel stated mirthfully. Even though worry was still visible in her eyes, she seemed to have found her good mood again. Perhaps it was because she could finally act, instead of watchingat Legolas' side and praying.

Aragorn was glad he had brought her with him. Her optimism and trust, together with the wind and feeling of freedom he was experiencing here, far away from Minas Tirith and from his duties, often drove away his worries and dark doubts – and off course, her presence had allowed him to refuse any guards on this journey, for who would better be able to protect a king than a warrior who had shielded an elvish prince for so many years?

"Welcoming or not, we'll have to go closer if we want to find the source of the plague." He took a deep breath and turned to the elleth. "Elentìriel, I really rather would like you to –"

"Stay here and cower. I know. You told me already. A Tenfold of times."

"Would there be any chance you have changed your stubborn mind during our journey?" _**  
**_

"None, I fear," she replied merrily. "Shall we go now? Time is of essence." She pushed her heels into her horse's flanks and raced down the hill, only to stop before the gate. She stared at it thoughtfully, guiding her horse back and forth as she inspected it.

"Why, that's strange."**  
**

"What is?" Aragorn asked as he joined her, though he saw the answer soon enough. The great, black gates were open. Elentìriel cocked her head, still staring at the black hole between them.

"Tell me, Estel… If Saruman were to have left his tower, would he have left the doors open?"

"Unlikely, I fear. Unless he would have left in a great hurry, off course. Though even then…" Ever mindful of a trap, the two lingered outside, searching for any sign of an ambush, but they found none. They had almost declared the area safe, when Aragorn's eyes fell upon a strange deviation in the patterns of the dry earth. Careful not to disturb the dust, the man knelt. It still took several minutes though, before the soil uncovered its secrets before his skilful eyes.

"Elentìriel!"

"Yes?" Aragorn almost jumped. Elflike, the warrior had approached him several minutes ago, but he had been too absorbed in the earthy mystery to hear her near-silent steps. Swallowing a curse – he had learnt remarkable self-control over his tongue due to Arwen's presence – he pointed at the patterns.

"Someone has passed here, though I couldn't quite say who. The manner in which he was walking, indicates a man, but he has left almost no impression, much like the elf-folk. He was carrying a stick though…"

"Saruman," she hissed.

"That would be my guess as well."

"But how? I thought he had died in the lands of the hobbits?"

"That's a question I too, do not know the answer to. But I'm certain caution would be a good idea here. Valar, I should have brought some guards."

"Well, we can't turn back now, so I fear you'll have to content yourself with me," Elentìriel whispered, drawing her bow.

"Believe me, I am. Let me tie down Goldmane first. I do not want her to run, and leave us behind." He cursed himself for not bringing Brego, but the horse had seen to much battle already, and thus Aragorn had seen it fit to give him some rest. Goldmane was swift and had a great endurance too, but their bond wasn't so strong yet. He could not be certain that she wouldn't run off at the first sign of danger, and he wouldn't like to be trapped here.

Quickly, he slung the reins over a thick, low branch, securing so that it would hold, though without too many knots so that he could get her free swiftly, if the need should arise. Then, he took his sword. He had a bow too, but since Tiri had already taken hers, it would be safer if there was someone who could take the enemy in close-combat.

Tiri grinned at him when he came back. "Do we actually have a plan?"

"Do we need one?"

"Where is the young ranger who couldn't go on a routine patrol before thinking out all kinds of scenarios and escape routes? I fear Legolas has a really bad influence on you, Estel," she sighed mockingly.

"Most of my plans did end up in ruin_s_ anyway."

"That's true."

"Mostly because of Legolas."

"Shall I tell him that, my lord?" Aragorn's grin disappeared.

"I do hope he will be able to hear it again. But we should not linger here. Do you have the torches?"

"Yes, but you'll have to carry them. I need my hands free for my bow." He frowned at her.

"Obviously. I'm not an apprentice anymore, Tìri."

"I'm sorry, the silence is getting on my nerves."

"Try to stay focused."

"Obviously." She smiled at him as she returned his exact response, but he did not answer it. The atmosphere was making him nervous too, and his heart felt hunted, as if it tried to tell him Legolas didn't have much time anymore. Still, he could not just burst in into this old stronghold of evil.

Carefully, he stepped climbed the stone hill to the gates and entered it, with Elentìriel right behind him. Once inside, he raised his torch in the air, trying to illuminate the whole room. The fire was reflected eerily in the black obsidian, but otherwise, the place seemed deserted. The cobwebs were undisturbed, and Saruman's artifacts were lying in the same place he had left them – even his chair had not been moved. It would have seemed none had passed here for a very long time, if the dust on the floor hadn't revealed very light footsteps.

Silently, Aragorn turned to the elf and pointed to the traces. Her eyes followed the trail, and widened when she saw where it was leading to.

"The Heart of the Tower," she mouthed. Aragorn nodded. The Black Heart of the Tower. The centre of Saruman's evil. He didn't look forward to going there, not with a wizard sneaking around here, but it had to be done. He took a deep breath, looked at Elentìriel and gave her an encouraging nod. Then, he opened the black interior door. Immediately, he noticed two things.

The first thing he saw was a strange design in the middle of the high room. A pentagonal star was drawn with white chalk, contrasting sharply with the dark obsidian floor. At the points, five black candles were burning, without melting. No wax was forming a pool around it, and no smoke arose, but the flames were red and illuminated the pentagram brightly. There were other objects too at the points and inside the star, but Aragorn couldn't quite make out what it was. He stepped forward.

That was when he noticed the second thing.

Or rather – he felt it. All of a sudden, a heavy weight was smashed against him, and the next thing he knew, he was floating through the air. His head collided heavily against one of the columns. Almost immediately, his vision darkened. He was flung to the ground, unable to move, unable to think.

Faraway, he heard Elentìriel screaming, high and surprised, and a dry _tock_ in one of the corners indicated she had lost her bow. Then, there was a wheezing sound, as if she too was catapulted through the air, and then everything was silent, except for soft footsteps – wizard's footsteps – running towards the fallen man.

Aragorn stealthily took his knife out of his booth – he has lost his sword and the torch somewhere mid-air – and prepared himself, focusing solely on the steps, even blocking out the soft moaning of the elleth some meters away. He relaxed his muscles and leveled out his breathing, but his hand grabbed his knife steadfastly. And he waited**.**

Time seemed to stretch out. Every second brought a million of impressions: the slither of heavy clothing, the ticking of a staff, the burning of the candles, the games of shadow and fluttering light, the shifting of a half-conscious body. The halting of the steps.

Aragorn jumped. Within the blink of an eye, his muscles were tensed and his knife had left the protection of his booth. He swung his arm with all his might. Because of his head wound, he couldn't steady himself soon enough, and he found himself being dragged forward by his weapon, stumbling towards his opponent.

But it seemed to work. His blade was obstructed somewhere at its utmost reach, indicating he had hit something. Aragorn allowed himself a small laugh.

Then, a hard wooden staff collided with his head, and he knew nothing more.

**Hope you liked it! I promise you will get answers the next chapter :P See you later! :)**

**xXx Archiril**


	7. Pain and a Pentagram

**So, here we got another one. Perhaps, as thewayfaringstrangers justly remarked, it isn't very Tolkien-ish, but I hope you still like it! This solution has been in my mind since the beginning of the story! :)**

**BETA: thewayfaringstrangers**

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**Epic Elven Warrior Princess: Please tell me.. are you in some way related to Dobby? ;) Now don't hurt your head, dear, it's alright, here you got some answers, don't hurt yourself ;)**

**Evenstars: Oh don't faint ;) Here you got - some - answers :P**

**Jasper6509: Thank you! :P Mmm, let's see what Saruman is up too ;)**

**Lazy Gaga: Love cliffies, as you see ;) Thanks for the review! :P**

**ShadowHawq35: Perhaps you should go test your heart, dear :P I do not want you to suffocate ;) Thank you for your review! :P**

**Squiddy the Beth: Hihi, indeed ;) Next chapter, you'll get your hug :P This isn't a cliffie, is it? :P**

**TheButterflyCurse996: How do you manage to embellish such grave threats in such a polite way? :P As for your question: NO I DO NOT WANT TO DIE, PLEASE LET ME LIVE, I SWEAR I WILL NOT HURT THEM ANYMORE, WE SWEAR IT... WE SWEAR IT... ON THE PRECIOUSS... YES PRECIOUSS, WE SWEAR IT ON THE PRECIOUSSSS! (Am I now safe? Can I now run? :P)**

**Ynnealay: Here the points are again ;) Love it! :P So I'm safe now? I can come out? :P And very good, you're the only one who saw it didn't have to be Saruman ! :) You start to know me! :P Thank you for the wonderful review, I'm so glad you like my conversations and interpretations of elves :)**

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**Pain and a Pentagram**

The first thing he was aware of was a strange, moaning noise. The sound echoed between his ears, and with every echo, the dark walls that enclosed his mind seemed to retreat.

Aragorn didn't know whether he should be glad about that though. Where once darkness had reigned, a thumping pain filled the free space, as if thousands of dwarves were hammering on the remaining walls. And from every blow, bright colors sprang forwards, dancing before his eyes, mingling with each other into one, confusing mass of chaos.

He moaned, and the sound intensified, destroying the cage he was in. All of a sudden, thousands of sensations overwhelmed him. The smell of candles. The cold stone against his back. The deep pain in his head. The sound of footsteps coming to him.

Saruman! Aragorn's eyes jerked open, and instinctively, his hand went for his sword, but grabbed nothing but air. His knife too, had disappeared from his boot.

Not that it would have helped him, since his vision was blurry. Furiously, the man blinked several times. It didn't work. Dark spots obscured his vision and sent waves of dizziness through his body. He could barely make out his opponent, clad in white.

He blinked again. The wizard seemed to be extending his hand. A curse! Aragorn clenched his teeth upon each other, seething with rage and frustration about his inability to defend himself.

"You will not bring me under your spell, Saruman! I will not be defeated by you!" he grunted, trying to block his mind from Saruman's fell magic. To his surprise, the dark servant only chuckled.

"Now, now, Estel. Don't be so aggressive. I don't think Elrond raised you like that." Aragorn seethed at hearing Elrond's name being spoiled by his evil tongue, but a little bell began to ring in his head. Saruman never called him Estel. Or could that be one of his tricks?

"Do not even dare to mention the Lord of Imladris' name once more, Curunir!"

"Easy, Aragorn." The wizard knelt and brushed alongside Aragorn's face. The man tried to recoil, but found his head already on the floor, effectively immobilizing him. He just had to suffer the soft fingers climbing up to his forehead, before stroking his hazy eyes with a gentleness Aragorn had not expected. Beneath his administrations, his vision cleared. The man blinked again, trying to focus on the wizard's face. His eyes dilated and he gasped in shock.

"Gandalf!" The white wizard nodded, and smiled gently.

"I'm glad you remember! I feared you had injured your head too severely." Aragorn scrutinized the face before him, searching for any indication it was the evil wizard in disguise, but he found none. Only the all too familiar, wise eyes and the aged face stared back at him.

"I thought you were Saruman."

"So I noticed." With the pain subduing, the memories flooded back. The air around his body. The pain. He couldn't help it that his voice sounded a little aggrieved.

"How… You knocked me…"

"Against the wall, that's right."

"But why…?"

"You had a very unfortunate timing, young king. I was just trying to break the protective spell around the pentagram, when you two burst in. You broke my concentration, and my powers, no longer contained, smashed you two backwards. You can count yourself lucky I did managed to hold a little control over the magic, otherwise you might have come away with much more than a minor headache!"

"Minor?" Aragorn asked incredulously. His head felt as if Smaug himself had smashed it against the stones. Even thinking about it doubled the pain again - and that was being brushed off as minor! But Gandalf didn't seem to _notice_.

"Yes, minor. Don't nag, Aragorn. It doesn't suit you." His light tone ensured him it was pointless to argue with the wizard on this point, so Aragorn focused on another question.

"Where's Elentìriel?"

"The elleth is alright, she is resting now. She too, hit the obsidian rather forcefully, but she should awake soon. I laid her in the chamber you were _in _before. There is a stone couch there, not too comfortable, but with some cloaks, it should make an acceptable resting place for a time." Gandalf's voice trailed off as he turned to the pentagram and examined it closely. His features became grave.

"How many elves have fallen to this curse already?"

"Curse? We thought it was an illness."

"Indeed, an illness born from a curse. How many?"

"Some dozens. The plague had raged worst in Minas Tirith, but there are some cases in Ithilien too, and probably also in Greenwood, though we have no confirmation there. But you knew of this already?"

"I knew Saruman had worked his fell magic again. As soon as I heard of ill elves, I hurried towards this tower and I have been studying the curse ever since. I still don't see how he has activated the curse after his death, but many other things have become clear now." Gandalf tentatively stretched his hand above the pentagram, as if he was expecting any resistance, and sighed**,** relieved**,** when this was not the case. "The illness is not natural, as you could assume. Look at the pentagram. What do you see?"

For the first time, Aragorn could take a close look at the strange design. He had off course noticed the black candles at the corners of the white pentagram already, but he hadn't been able to see the other objects before he had been knocked unconscious. Every candle was resting in a low bowl, filled with earth, water, flames and a white, swirling mist. The bowl on the top of the star however, had the strangest of materials in it. It wasn't touchable, but it wasn't smoke either. It looked cold nor warm, wet nor dry. It somehow reminded him of the ethereal elven glow – except that it felt totally wrong, unnatural. Where the elven light symbolized pureness and joy and clarity, this bowl was filled with everything that was tainted and shrouded and tormented.

In disgust, Aragorn turned away from the concoction. "What is that?"

Gandalf's smiled mysteriously. "That, my friend, is the answer to all riddles."

"Care to elaborate?" Aragorn asked sarcastically. The questions and suspense were really weighing on him, and he was tired of not knowing what was going on. Apparently, Gandalf picked up his annoyance.

"What you are seeing here, young king, is a pentagram. The four lowest points symbolize the four elements: water, air, fire and earth. This place however, is the place for the Spirit, the Song if you would like. The Spirit is everything and everything is the Spirit. It's a power of Illuvatar that binds us all, though its influence is the strongest in the elf-kin. At night, you can see the Spirit emanating from them, in the form of their elven glow." Aragorn pointed at the bowl it the top and grimaced in disbelief.

"So that is the pure power of Arda?"

"No – and that is what is causing the plague. The whole pentagram has been reversed. Fire is placed upon the water, earth smothers the wind. The painting is in white upon a black surface, instead of black on a clear soil. And the Spirit, the purest of elements, had been defiled into this… chaos. It's a grave violation of all laws, and I still cannot believe Saruman did this."

"But he did. And now we have to solve this. What do the drawings in the center symbolize?"

"Ah, an excellent question. These designs are vital for the plague, but they will not aid us in unraveling this curse. They are merely spreading the evil impulses of the pentagram."

"But how can this be the cause of the illness?" Gandalf sighed, and put the tips of his fingers against each other. Pensively, he stared at the drawing.

"That is the most difficult part. Saruman has somehow succeeded into transferring the chaos, the artificiality into living beings who approaches the source. And not only that, he has also specified that it will be only elves who will be infected, _and that they will spread the curse from themselves!_ A piece of exceptional control over the magic, Aragorn!"

"Honestly, Gandalf, I do not care how crafty or cunning he is. I want to know how we can stop this."

"I have been spending several days searching for a clue. Most solutions are quite simple, actually. We will need to bring the pentagram in balance again – water for water, earth for earth, fire for fire and air for air. The problem is that the Spirit is invisible and intangible. We cannot contain it in a bowl. Only the wisest and most powerful elves could give off a little of their essence –even though it was a difficult and dangerous process – but they have all sailed now."

"Then what can we do?" a feminine voice asked. It seemed Elentìriel had woken up and had followed their conversation. She was now standing in the doorstep, leaning against the frame, still a little groggy. Gandalf sighed.

"I don't know. I don't know. I just can't think of anything that could capture the Spirit." They were silent for a few minutes, each sunken in their own thoughts. It was Elentìriel who spoke first.

"Mithrandir… Just before the plague hit, I received a blossom of the White Tree. We have figured it was protecting me somehow, for I am the only one who was not fallen ill. Couldn't we use that?" That seemed to pique Gandalf's interest.

"A flower? From Telperionion? Do you have it with you?" Elentìriel nodded and searched in her pocket for the dried, white blossom. Then, she handed it over, but their hope disappeared quickly when Gandalf shook his head.

"How long ago was it given to you?"

"A little more than a week."

"It has become too fragile now. The Spirit can't stay in dead creatures. Are there any other flowers?"

"No. It is too early for the Tree to blossom."

"So I feared." Aragorn thought for a few moments.

"But Mithrandir, when the Spirit is in everything and everything is the Spirit, then it doesn't matter what we _choose_ to complete the pentagram, right?" Gandalf smiled, but it was mirthless.

"Good reasoning again, but you forget that this pentagram is extremely powerful. We need something extremely powerful as well to inverse it." Again, silence reigned, as they stared at the pentagram. This time it was Gandalf who rose, casually wiping out the cray of the pentagram with his foot.

"Well, we can't do anything anymore here. I have dismantled the pentagram so that there will be no harm from here anymore, so we can leave this place. Now, I don't know about you, but I presume I would be able to think better when I am in a warm and comfortable place, somewhere near the ill. Don't you agree, Aragorn?" The man sighed, and nodded slowly.

"Perhaps you are right. Are you certain we can't do anything else here? Search the books, examine the pentagram once more?"

"No, Aragorn. The answers lie outside of this place. Isengard will not aid us in this. Elentìriel, be a good girl and help an old man towards the horses, would you? I'm sure Shadowfax will have discovered them already." Leaning upon the slim elven girl, he exited the Black Heart, leaving Aragorn behind.

The young king felt frustrated. He had hoped to find answers here, and a way to end this nightmare! Well, answers they had found, but in the end, all they gained was another riddle. And meanwhile, Legolas was dying!

"Aragorn, will you come?" Elentìriel had returned, and was now watching him carefully. In contrast to him, her eyes shone with hope now since they had met Gandalf. She seemed certain he would find a remedy in the end. Perhaps it was in her elven nature, or perhaps she saw something he didn't. Perhaps he should trust in her instincts – but he found he couldn't. What if the solution came too late? What if Legolas died?

Aragorn couldn't imagine a life without the elf. He had always been there. His face was one of the first he remembered, and his voice still reminded him sometimes of his long forgotten youth. The prince had guided his first steps and his first arrows. He had faced Elrond's and Thranduil's rage in order to protect the young boy when he had misbehaved again. He had taken many wounds, shielding Aragorn with his life. His laughter had been a constant presence. And now he was fading, leaving the young king behind!

All of a sudden, tears sprang in the man's eyes. His fatigue and worries had finally overtaken him, and he leaned tiredly against the wall, rubbing his temples with his fingers. He was so weary! He longed for a night of rest, undisturbed by worries and false hope! But his wish wasn't granted.

"Estel? Are you alright?" Elentìriel's voice sounded near, and when he looked up, he saw the elf looking at him worriedly. He blinked furiously to wipe away the tears and nodded, waving her away.

"Yes. Thank you. Come now, we should go." To his relief, she didn't comment, but followed him outdoors, where Gandalf was already waiting. Quickly, they mounted and rode away along the same road, each pondering the problem.

The dark tower slowly disappeared in the white morning mist.

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**I truly hope this solution is agreeable for you! I admit I do have sometimes strange ideas... Please let me know what you think about it!**

**And any guesses for the fifth element, par chance?**

**xXx Archiril**


	8. Fever

**Fast update! Yeay! :P Okay, no remarks for this chapter, only a huge thank you for all of my reviewers, followers, or any other who has interest in this story! :)**

**BETA: thewayfaringstrangers**

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**Epic Elven Warrior Princess: Oh, because you were smashing your head against the wall ;) Please do tell more ;) In what way are you related to Legolas? :P**

**gginsc: Thanks ;) Love your review! :)**

**Jasper6509: Haha, who knows... ;)**

**Lazy Gaga: I'm glad it is ;) Though perhaps you will get some more answers/clues in this chapter ;)**

**ShadowHawq35: I'm glad you did like the solution! My beta did remark -justly- that it's not very Tolkien-ish, but it was too late to change the plot ;) Mmm, who knows? :P**

**Squiddy the Beth: Thank you very much, again ;) Find the hug in the chapter! ;)**

**TheButterflyCurse996: O-o. *weakly* But we sweared it on the precious... :P Wicked gift :P**

**Ynnealay: You saw well ;) But didn't Gandalf have a white staff _made of wood?_** **Or is there an english nuance here? Thank you very much! I just try to express the deep friendship between the two. Aragorn has never known a life without Legolas. :p Oh, and here is some Legolas for you ;)**

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**Fever**

"Baw! No, please! Saes! Saes, baw!"

Aragorn jerked awake**.** Confused, he took in his surroundings, trying to determine where he was. A table. A chair. Bookcases filled with knowledge about healing, history, foreign nations and even some linguistic studies. Maps on the wall. His study. He was in his study. So the panicked cries had only been a dream…

"No! Estel, saes baw! Estel! No! Estel!" Within a few seconds, Aragorn had opened the door and had sprinted towards the source of the cries, only to find Faramir already there, desperately trying to sooth the young elven prince. Immediately, Aragorn took a seat next to him, and started to sing an old lullaby. It had always helped to calm Legolas down when he was wounded again, and in the process, it worked its healing powers on the ranger too, who might not be hurting physically, but certainly was emotionally at the sight of his proud friend in pain.

This time however, it didn't work. The elf's distressed cries were almost painful to hear. His face was distorted in pain, and every time Aragorn tried to reach out for him, to caress his cheek or to hold his hand to let him know he was not alone, Legolas jerked away from his touch. He seemed to be fighting something, for he was thrashing around wildly. To their dismay, the young elf grew more agitated by the minute.

"Baw! Estel, Estel! Baw!" Seeing his song had no avail, Aragorn broke it off. Carefully, he pulled Legolas closer, ignoring the fearful protests and the nails that were scratching his skin. Holding his mouth almost against the elf's ear, he began whispering softly, in a rhythmic chant.

"Tìn na, Legolas. Tin na. Im sì. Tin na." (Hush, Legolas. I'm here. Hush.) The elf fought a little longer, squirming to break free from Aragorn's grip, but he found himself too weak to do so. Still, it wasn't only after a long time that the cries died into a pitiful whimpering, and his body stilled, even though his hands were still clutching Aragorn's shirt. Only a frown upon his fair features betrayed the discomfort that was still lingering in his body. His cheeks were still flushed with fever.

Worried, Aragorn pressed a damp cloth against his forehead. This raging fever was burning him up. They had to cool him down, otherwise he would not live through the next day.

"Faramir, please let a cold bath be prepared –it cannot be icy though. I think four buckets of cool water for one boiling will suffice."

"Immediately, my lord." The steward arose and disappeared through the door. Somewhere in the hall, the king could hear him talking to one of the servants, but he could not quite catch the words.

Not that he was trying to, actually. Gently, he started to unfasten Legolas' shirt, humming softly to send the elf deeper into a healing sleep. He grimaced when he found the cloth under his fingers damp and clammy. For an elf to sweat, his condition must be dire indeed! Quickly, he removed the wet clothing, and continued to do so until nothing but a thin blanket was covering him. Then he did the same with the trousers.

After he had finished undressing the elf, he waited, still singing softly.

He didn't have to sit there long though. Within a few minutes, Faramir came back, with the announcement that the bath was filled. Aragorn thanked him with a smile and a nod and embraced him elf-like, to express his gratitude for the steward's silent support, before wrapping Legolas's slim form in a soft fur. Carefully, he took him in his arms, but he could not prevent the elf's head lolling lifelessly back and forth. With a careful gesture, Aragorn secured him against his shoulder and began walking to the bathroom.

It wasn't far. A few days ago, they had moved Legolas to his own chambers. Since they knew the source of the plague, they had also understood no medicine or potion would heal the ill, not until they found the fifth element. Therefore, the healers could do nothing more than to make the patients as comfortable as they could – a task that could be easily taken over by Faramir and Arwen, together with the king. And as they had a faint hope that the familiar surroundings and scent would calm Legolas, they had decided to bring him to his own room, instead of leaving him in the Hallsof Healing.

And since Legolas had always been attentive to his personal hygiene – prissy, Aragorn would call it – his chambers were situated close to the royal bathroom. **  
**

Not that it mattered. Even in normal circumstances, Legolas would weigh no more than a child, but now, with his body wrecked and thinned by the prolonged disease, it was as if Aragorn were notcarrying a body at all. Beneath his fingers, he could feel the elf's ribs poking out under the skin.

With his elbow, attentive not to push Legolas head against the wood, Aragorn opened the door to the bathroom and knelt next to the marble bath. The place was a tad too luxurious for his ranger's taste, with little fountains and large, deep pools, all in marble and gold and turquoise, but Arwen and Legolas seemed to enjoy it, so they had not changed it. And besides, Aragorn had given his friends permission to use them as often as they wished, so that he didn't feel uncomfortable with having all these riches solely for himself.

Carefully, Aragorn took away the fur that was covering the elf and laid him down in a shallower part of the bath, with his head still on the edge. They were lucky. Usually, the pool was filled with warm water, welling from the hot spring in the mountain. Just before the plague hit however, Arwen had decided to let the bath be cleaned. In the chaos that followed, none had thought about refilling it, so that now they had been able to quickly pour cold water in it.

And indeed, the water felt deliciously cool. Legolas too, seemed to enjoy it, for his frowning diminished, and his body relaxed a little more. Gently, Aragorn splashed some water over his face. To his relief, he noticed the feverish red paling, and the breathing bec**o**me easier. It seemed they had bought the elf some time.

Sighing, Aragorn leaned back, resting his head against a marble table. As he had done so many times, he began thinking again about the fifth element. Something powerful. Something pure. Something…

"My lord?" Aragorn sighed, opening his eyes.

"Yes, Elentìriel?"

"I thought you might need any assistance with dressing Legolas again? You have been sitting here for almost an hour," the maiden answered, casually leaning against the door frame. The Valar knew how long she had been standing there. Aragorn blinked.

"An hour already?" he murmured softly, before looking up at the elf. "I'll be find, thank you. Besides, I do not think it proper if…"

"If what? I saw Legolas naked? Come now, Estel. You know the habits of my kin. We are not nearly as prudish as you are." A mocking smile played around her lips, and Aragorn too grinned.**  
**

"Yes, I remember that all to clearly. But still, I can handle dressing Legolas. The only reason why I was sitting here so long, is because I was thinking about the fifth element." Elentìriel nodded.

"Ah, the fifth element. What a curse to be so close to a solution, and yet so far away! Did your dreaming produce any answers?" Elegantly, she walked over to the basin and sat down next to Aragorn, who sighed.

"I fear not. I have been thinking about any other tree that could have the same amount of the Spirit in it, but I could only come up with the Culumalda."

"Culumalda? Isn't that the tea lady Ioreth gave to Legolas the next day?"

"Yes. It was made of the bark. Apparently, it has some strong healing capabilities that even the elves don't know about. It has helped Legolas greatly."

"But it didn't take away the fever," Elentìriel pointed out. Aragorn shook his head.

"Indeed, it didn't take away the fever. But the cool bath seems to have succeeded in this." They were silent for a few moments, until the elf turned her head to him.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Did you tell Mithrandir about the Culumalda?"

"Indeed I did."

"Then what did he say?" She was holding her voice perfectly under control. No one could have detected even the faintest trace of irritation in it, but Aragorn read the signs of her body all too clearly, and understood she was not into teasing today. He shook his head.

"Not pure enough. The soil that was nurturing the tree, had once been tainted by darkness." Elentìriel nodded thoughtfully, her eyes gazing in a distant memory.

"Yes, I remember. There has been a battle there, long ago. Is it still enough to spoil the Spirit?"

"According to Gandalf, yes."

"So we cannot take something out of nature. For almost every place had almost been plagued by battle."

"Except for Lorien."

"That's true," Elentìriel answered thoughtfully. "What about the Mallyrn?"

"If Galadriel were still on these shores, it would have worked, but together with her, a great deal of the magic and the Spirit have flown out of the Golden Wood. Lorien won't help us anymore."

They thought about the problem a little longer, until Aragorn looked down at Legolas. The elf seemed to be sleeping rather peacefully. Though there still was a frown upon his forehead, his cheeks were no longer flushed and he did not stir. Aragorn straightened.

"I'm going to bring Legolas back to bed. The bath has done a marvelous job."

"That's true, for certain. Look at how he sleeps! I think the sound of our voices soothes him. Do you need any help?" Aragorn began to dry Legolas' hair, before lifting him out of the water.

"Perhaps you can take the fur?" Together, they wrapped the young elf in the soft blanket, being so gentle that he barely moved. Only when Aragorn took him in his arms, he clutched his clothing with his hands, burrowing his face in the familiar scent. The king smiled down at him tenderly.

With the smoothest walk he could manage, he brought Legolas back to his room and tucked him in. Then he took his seat as before, and prepared to remain awake again through the day and the night, as he had done so many days before.

The prince was a fighter. Aragorn had knew this before, but it was in difficult times, he found himself fully appreciating the elf's power. Two weeks already, Legolas **had been** fighting the plague. He was one of the few elves who had managed to survive this long. Most died after a few days. Some lasted a week or more. But two weeks! Still, a nagging voice spoke, he wasn't out of danger. He was just fighting. And even so, one day his strength would be spent, and then… Don't think about it!

With all his strength, Aragorn focused on other thoughts. The fifth element, for example. As if he hadn't thought about it for days. He could dream about it now!  
Suddenly, a flash of a memory came back to him. A feeling of comfort, and light. Aragorn frowned, trying to grasp the image, to unravel it further. Something white, and gold. A lady… the Lady Galadriel…. He had dreamt about her. She had smiled, and had said something to him. What had she said to him?

Desperately, Aragorn strived to recall her voice, but nothing came back. The whole dream was as sand between his fingers, slipping away. Images, feelings, a single sound… They were woven together, but many threads and colors were lacking in the tapestry.

**What message had she given to him? Was it advice? Or had it just been a memory of their stay in Lorien, seemingly so many years ago? No, it was not a memory. She had spoken to him, and had opened her hand. She had held something in it, offering it to him… What was it? Aragorn cursed his mind. So close! He just had to remember… The slim hand. Her skin white as alabaster. Her dress lit up by a light… white… pure… glass. And then he saw.**

"What are you doing?" Cursing loudly, Aragorn jumped and let his chair topple over. The wood hit the floor loudly, succeeding in something none of the healers could have done. It woke Legolas.

At the BANG of the chair, the elf jerked from his bed with a gasp, trembling a little. His eyes fluttered open confused, and he muttered something inaudible, looking around fearfully. Immediately, Aragorn knelt by his side.

"I am sorry, Legolas. I let the chair fall," he murmured guiltily, stroking the elf's hand. The prince turned his head to look at him. He was panting from the shock, and his eyes widened in fear when he found himself unable to take in enough air. Shakily, he breathed in again, willing himself to calm down, but a wheezing sound arose and the grasp around his chest tightened. He coughed.

Aragorn saw what was happening. Quickly, he helped Legolas upright and began rubbing his back in slow circles. Beneath his skilful fingers, he felt all muscles tensing.

"Easy, Legolas. Try to relax. It will ease your breathing. Relax. I'm here, don't worry. Relax. Try to breath in slowly. Slowly, Legolas. That's it. Now breath out. Good, very good. Calm down."

Under the tender administrations, the elf slowly relaxed. The pain around his chest disappeared, and he felt his former weakness catching up with him. His head fell back against Aragorn's shoulder as the soft rubbing soothed him. His eyes were closing again.

Somewhere, he knew he had to say something to his friend, a plea not to worry to much, but sleep overtook him, and his body slacked again. He barely registered Aragorn laying him upon his pillow again. Then, he fell back into darkness.

Regretfully, Aragorn watched his friend sinking back into oblivion once again. He continued to caress his face for a few more minutes, until he was certain Legolas didn't notice anything of it anymore. Then, he ducked and slowly set the chair right again. Meanwhile, Elentìriel was watching, her eyes dark with sorrow and guilt. Her voice was soft when she spoke again, as to make sure not to frighten him anymore.

"I am sorry, Estel. I thought… I thought you knew I was here." The pain was clear in her tone, and Aragorn could do nothing else but to shook his head and wave off the apology.

"It's alright. I have been… distracted."

"By what?" At her question, Aragorn looked up, smiling lightly.

"By the solution of our problem."

"The solution? Do you know… Do you know the fifth element?" The elf could barely contain her excitement, and Aragorn smiled more broadly.

"Yes… Well, actually, Lady Galadriel showed it to me, in a dream."

"What did she say?"

"She said nothing… or rather she did, but I cannot recall her words. But she showed me something. An object filled with joy and pureness. A phial with the light of Eärendil." Elentìriel laughed loudly and was almost dancing.

"Then we have it! Where is the phial now?"

"In Valinor, with Frodo." Aragorn answered smiling. Elentìriel's joyful expression turned into one of confusion.

"But Estel…"

"Yes, I know we can not go to the Blessed Lands. But I've been thinking further. The phial contains the light of a star - well, a starlike Silmaril. You are an elf, Tiri. You know better than me the purity of Elbereth'scrafting." The maiden looked at him as if he had gone mad.

"So you want to catch a star as fifth element?"

"Exactly." He saw her debating whether she should tell him that was impossible, or to leave him in his dream. Her mind made up, she started talking slowly, as if explaining something difficult to a little child.

"Aragorn, only the wisest of the elves could catch the light of the stars, and they have all sailed. We cannot pluck a star from heaven." Aragorn just grinned merrily.

"Oh, we can."

"Then how?"

**Yes I know - I'm mean. *Runs and hides***

**xXx Archiril**


	9. A Sleepless Night

**I am really, truly, deeply sorry for the long wait. You see, the second trimester as started, and I've got loads of assignements and papers to finish, and hundreds of pages to study and everything is just far too busy! Anyway, I haven't quit this story. I guess there will be one more chapter and an epilogue (but I'm not very good in guessing, so don't pin me on that!)**

**BETA: thewayfaringstrangers**

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**Guest: I honestly do not think eagles can fly to stars ;) They need air! It's a simpler solution :P**

**Jasper6509: Could be... But no. I do not think Aragorn (or Arwen for the matter) would agree with that :P But good guess :P**

**Lazy Gaga: You'll get some answers here, I promise :P**

**Nearing Midnight: Oops. Sorry. It has been a little busy... I do hope you still enjoy the story :)**

**ShadowHawq35: Thank you! :P Ah, baw is an elvish word, meaning no :P There is some discussion about it, but I find it easier to use :P**

**Squiddy the Beth: Thank you very much for your lovely review! Yes, I do like cliff hangers, but this one isn't too bad, I think ;)**

**TheButterflyCurse996: Hi ;) Yeah, I didn't tell you the masterplan, did I? :P Here you got your answer :P**

**Ynnealay: Thanks for trying! But no, indeed :P We'll see more about Legolas next chapter! :P**

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"Dew."

"Dew?"

"Yes, dew." There was a silence, in which all the assembled friends stared at Aragorn, who leaned back self-confidently. Most of them were bewildered and slightly worried at the mental state of the king - save for Elentìriel, who had heard his explanation before, and Gandalf, who was looking rather pensively. It was so quiet you could have heard a needle touch the ground.

Looking at their astonished faces, Aragorn decided to give them some time to let his statement sink in. It took a little longer than he had expected. Perhaps the worry and tiredness were catching up with them, so that this new and unexpected change was hard to process. Eventually, it was Gandalf who spoke first, his voice calm, his eyes staring into the fire.

"Perhaps, Aragorn, you could explicate the reasons which have led you to this conclusion?" He had the same brooding look he usually had when Aragorn came to report something very unusual, and possibly quite important, that he had seen on his travels as Ranger, and the king now knew that he would have the wizard's full attention – and the others'. He leant back against his chair and started to speak, slowly and thoughtfully.

"Last night, the lady Galadriel came to me in a dream, showing me the phial she gave to Frodo. The jewel contains the light of Eärendil – or more correctly, it contains the light of the Silmaril on the prow of his ship."

"A ship? In the sky?" Eowyn looked very skeptically. To Aragorn's surprise, it was Faramir who answered.

"Yes, I heard the story. After Eärendil the Mariner went to Amman to beg the Valar for their aid in Middle-Earth, he was given a place in the sky. On his ship Vingilot, he had to bring hope to the people on the grey shores. Legend has it that Elbereth herself placed one of the three Silmarils on the prow." Suddenly, Faramir became aware that he had the attention of all assembled in the hall, among whom was a centuries-old-elf-lady, and his cheeks became faintly red.

"At least, that is what I heard about it, but I do not pretend to know this better than the firstborn." Elentìriel smiled gently at his words.

"You told the essence of it well, son of Denethor. Indeed, Eärendil is not a star, but his pure light radiates from Feänor's crafting itself."

"I know this," Aragorn intervened, "but even so, the mentioning of Eärendil guides my thoughts towards the stars. They may be less in beauty than the Silmaril, but they are purer, for no war has ever been fought for them."

"There was a battle once, Estel. Long ago, even before the wakening of the elves at Cuivienen. Morgoth tried to destroy Elbereth's pureness, but the Valar defeated him, and they placed the Valacirca, a constellation of stars high in heaven to mock him. Afterwards, Varda created the second stars, the ones we still see."

"So the youngest ellyn have never been spoiled by rage and blood-lust?"

"No."

"Then my theory still stands. We need stars as the fifth element." Here, Faramir stepped forward.

"But you have still not told us how we'll have to catch a star, my lord." Aragorn smiled.

"I believe I did."

"Then how?"

"Dew." It was silent again, before Eowyn spoke.

"Well, I'm sorry Aragorn, but I fear you'll have to give us some more information before we understand what you're talking about." Her voice was a little sarcastic and frustrated, but at that moment, Arwen's clear laughter rang through the hall.

"Melleth nin, you are wonderful!" Both the steward and his wife looked at her in bewilderment.

"Are we the only ones who areat a complete loss here?" The elf smiled gently.

"My apologies, my good friends, but I believe Estel has indeed found the solution to our problem. Please, melleth nin, explain."

"Perhaps one of the firstborn could explain this better. Elentìriel?" The young lady had been staring at the window, and turned around startled.

"Yes, what is it?"

"Perhaps you would explain why dew will be our solution," Aragorn repeated patiently, silently wondering why the elf _had_ been so distracted. He should keep an eye on her. For now, he chose not to comment though, and Elentìriel quickly regained her wits.

"Oh. Off course." She took a deep breath. "It isn't hard to tell though. The legend goes that in the Elder Days, every morning lady Varda collected the silver dew from Telperion's branches and leaves. When the Two Trees were destroyed, she used it to create the second stars. Therefore, using dew will allow us to capture the essence of the ellyn – or so we hope. It was one of Estel's better ideas," she smirked, but Aragorn didn't fail to notice her eyes were still absent. Eowyn thought a few seconds about her answer, before her lips curled into a smile.

"It is a simple as that? Dew?"

"Perhaps we could give it some more strength by taking dew from the White Tree?" Faramir suggested, also smiling. "After all, he is a descendant of Telperion." Gandalf nodded and rose with a grunt.

"Excellent idea, young steward. Well, I see no cause for any delay. Aragorn, can you make sure the dew is collected and brought to me? In the mean time, I will set up the beginnings for the counter-spell. I need silence, five white candle and five bowls. I will be at the courtyard. Make sure some guards keep everyone away." The wizard disappeared in the corridor, but his low voice still rang clearly audible. "And I do not want to be disturbed!"

The others grinned almost sheepishly, relieved that the nightmare finally seemed to beending, as one after the other, they left the chamber; Faramir to give the guards their orders, Eowyn to get the bowls with their content, and Arwen to fetchthe white candles. When Elentìriel tried to slip through the door though, Aragorn stopped her, looking at her with a gaze full of concern.

"Tiri, please a word. You have been so absent during our conversation. What is on your mind?"

"'Tis nothing, Estel." She brushed off his hand and tried again to escape, but Aragorn held her firmly. His voice was soft and warm, using a tone he knew would penetrate through Elentìriel's defenses.

"Tiri. Please." She stiffened, before sagging against the man. Then, she turned her ear against his chest and listened to the beating of his heart. Slowly, her words on his rhythm, she began to speak.

"I didn't want to tell you, Estel. I wanted to spare you this but…"

"But what?" With moist eyes, she looked up at him.

"It's Legolas." She took a deep breath, before the words tumbled out of her mouth. "He's not doing well, Estel. Not well at all… I fear for him. I fear that whatever we will do now, it will not be enough to save him. The plague has destroyed him utterly. What if he won't heal? What if…?"

"Don't speak like that."

"But it's true! Estel, why can't you see this! He's gone!"

"No! I will not accept this! And you must not think about it!" His cry startled the elf-maiden, and she kept silent. Sighing softly, Aragorn continued in a softer voice. "Elentìriel, he isn't dead yet. We will face troubles as they arise, not sooner. Please, be with me on this. Do not despair. Can you do that for me?" She hesitated for a moment, and then surrendered. Still, the grief was plain in her eyes, but there was nothing Aragorn could do at the moment. He squeezed her shoulder encouragingly.

"Come, let us go to the citadel."

"Mithrandir didn't want to be disturbed."

"I know, I would like to see whether he required something else."

"Yes. Peace."

"Then I'm going to instruct the guards."

"Faramir already did."

"Then I'm going to give some more instructions! Don't tell me you aren't curious aboutwhat Gandalf is doing, Tiri, because I won't believe you. Are you coming?" He left the room, wondering about the contradiction of this conversation. In normal circumstances, Elentìriel would be the one begging to accompany Mithrandir, and he would be the one pointing at the annoyance of a certain wizard. But alas, the situation was anything but normal, forcing everything to fall out of place.

"Fine then." To his relief, Elentìriel's voice sounded gruff, but not despairing anymore. It was very difficult to cope with Elentìriel's changing moods. Just like all Nando, she was changeable as the seasons, the one moment merry and jolly, the other cold. He hoped she would be able to tame her elvish nature better when Legolas was up again.

He refused to even think about the other possibility.

* * *

The night was one of the longest Aragorn had ever had to endure – and that included the many sleepless, cold nights in the North, in the middle of hostile territory. The darkness seemed to be determined to conquer the palace forever. Every time Aragorn looked from his bed to the moon, it looked almost as if Ithil hadn't moved at all. Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore and made his way to the hall. Perhaps the crackling fire would be a patient companion during this eternal waking.

Not bothering to slip on shoes, Aragorn walked bare-footed to the hall. His silent steps made little noise upon the cold floor, but he was glad when he could finally sit down near the warmth of the fire. The stones of the palace were chill at night.

To his surprise, he found another slim figure already present. Her hair became a deep gold in the reddish glue of the flames, and for a second, Aragorn thought she was asleep. Then, her eyelids fluttered and she looked at him. Her breathing hitched, before she relaxed again and sat up.

"Aragorn. I hadn't expected you here."

"I am sorry to wake you," the man apologized.

"Don't worry, I wasn't sleeping." She smiled wearily. "But I am not the only one, I see." Aragorn sighed and sank down next to Eowyn on the couch, staring into the fire. He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"How can I sleep, Eowyn? Legolas' life hangs by a thread, and all we can do is waiting until dawn, until Varda has spread her dew over the world again. It's maddening!"

"If you know there is nothing you can do, then why are you so eager to act? The pentagram is ready, the bowls are filledwith earth, water and air. We just have to wait a little more. So be at peace, Aragorn. I know what _i_t is like to be powerless, but you just have to accept it." When the man studied her face, she looked back calmly.

She had changed during this crisis. Normally, she was the bright one, the woman who would challenge his guards for an horse-race or shoo the king out of his room to go outside. She was the first to ready the horses when duties called them to distant regions. But these last weeks, she had turned. She had become the temperate one, the one who cared and hushed. She had helped lady Ioreth with the treatment of the elves, and had been the one to wake next to Legolas' bed while Aragorn and Elentìriel had been traveling to Isengard.

The king understood the wisdom of her words. He truly did. But the knowledge that he was powerless to spur the time didn't abate his feelings of restlessness. He couldn't stay seated by the fire, so he rose and walked to the great window, ignoring the cold tugging on his feet. Once he was there, he found himself unable to stand still, and walked back.

Eowyn looked at him from beneath her half-closed eyes, but didn't comment. She looked rather comfortable in her seat, a thick, white blanket draped around her warmly. Aragorn sighed and turned again. This time, he hadn't made it to the window when the sound of a creaking door made him look up. As beautiful as a winter's dream, Arwen was standing at the threshold, smiling lightly.

"It seems I will not be alone this night. Goodnight to you, Eowyn," she spoke gently, entering the hall. The Shieldmaiden smiled back, but didn't rise. The two had swiftly become friends, probably because of their kindred, fiery spirits, making them behind those kind of formalities now.  
Graciously, Arwen took Aragorn's vacant seat near the fire. The red flames beautifully set her face on fire and made her hair glow warmly. She looked at the king.

"Meleth nin, please sit down. You are going to walk a trace in our floor if you continue like that." After a moment of hesitation, Aragorn fell helplessly into a chair and unconsciously started swinging his feet. A deep sigh arose from the seat next to him, and he quickly mumbled an apology, forcing his body to keep still.

It was not an easy job. Worry bit through his limbs, almost compelling movement. Fortunately, they were distracted by another arrival. This time it was Faramir standing in the hall. Eowyn shot up.

"My love, did I wake you?"

"You can't wake someone who isn't sleeping, Eowyn," the steward smiled lovingly. "May I join you?" Quickly, Eowyn made some free place, but as soon as her husband sat, she shove her bare, slender feet on his lap and laid her head down on the cushions again.

"I guess that leaves Elentìriel," Arwen stated. "I wonder when she will arrive." Aragorn snorted.

"Knowing her, not long. I would guess she's already on her way here."

"Yes, I met her on her way to the kitchens. She was fetching some tea for us first, for apparently, she already suspected we would be here," Faramir answered, and looked at the door. "There she is already." Indeed, the she-elf had appeared in the door, carrying a tray with boiling tea. She put it down on a little table.

"I thought you might need this. Help yourself."

It was a long time before the sun rose.

**Let's keep our fingers crossed that the pentagram will indeed help ;) Please review!**

**xXx Archiril**


	10. A Flash of Light and Darkness

**It has been some time, but I hope I didn't make you wait too long. As I said, I have some major papers to finish, and exams are coming in a week. I just finished a paper about prostitution in the 18th century, so I should have a little more time. Anyway, one more chapter for this story!**

**BETA: thewayfaringstrangers**

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**GaleEnjolrasKili: Thank you! Yeah, I think you can use that word :P I am glad you found it too! ^^**

**Glorelwen:Thank you! I fear I will not... I think it is a miserable story. If you want to, I can send you the plot though?**

**Jasper6509: A bear-hug? Fun! I think Legolas would like it ;) If he wakes...**

**Missteigne: Mes excuses pour le retard. J'éspère qui vous lirez ce chapter aussi? Comment vous sachiez qui je comprends le français? Il y a longtemps que j'ai dû l'écrire, alors excusez-moi les fautes :)**

**ShadowHawq35: Thank you! I was not too certain about it... I have a minor writer block, I think, but your review made it better. Thank you! :)**

**SpiritArcher55: Thanks! I hope you will forgive me this long wait too :)**

**TheButterflyCurse996: I don't remember how I thought about it. I know, I have of those moments... ^^ Just kidding :P**

**Ynnealay: No, I think she is just worried :) I'll think about your request ;) Ever seen Supernatural? There they kill people all the time (and resurrect them, fortunately :P)**

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"The sun is rising." The silent voice broke the fragile silence and woke the assembled nobility in the Hall of Fire. Breaking out of his half-sleep, Aragorn raised his gaze to the window, and smiled. The sun was climbing in a gentle glow of rosy fire, while a warm breeze broke through the chillness of the night to stroke his face. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the pure scent of the air.

"We should go." Elentìriel sounded impatient. Disturbed, Aragorn opened his eyes again, and nodded.

"I rather doubt Gandalf will tolerate us there, but we can have a look," he remarked, and rose. To his surprise, only Elentìriel followed his example. Arwen just kept sitting.

"You two can go," she said calmly. "You can help Mithrandir with the ritual if aid is required, but knowing our wizard, he will chase us away if we troop around him like curious flies. No, I think I can be of more use in the healing hall, with Eowyn and Faramir. We do not know how the elves will react to the cure." Aragorn smiled.

"Ever the wise, melleth nin. I will come to you as soon as the ritual has been fulfilled." He lowered his head in a greeting and left the hall of fire, the warm home where they had spent the eternal night. The almost inaudible steps of Elentìriel followed him, though she didn't say anything. Aragorn remembered the conversation they had had, and laid a hand upon her shoulder as they walked.

"He will be alright, Tiri." The she-elf smiled in thanks, but in her eyes, Aragorn could read her disbelief. Still, he did not pursue the matter. Soon, very soon now, this nightmare would end, for thebetter or for theworse.

They reached the high plain at the moment the sun touched the silver tree, setting it on fire. Aragorn took a moment to breath in the freshness of the air, and enjoyed the living rain on the tender branches of Telperionion. Movement at the court seized his attention.

"I assume you have ignored my request to grant me some peace?" a gruff voice asked. The wizard was kneeling, spreading some white chalk on the pavement to make sure there would be no interruptions in the pentagram, and didn't even look up at them. Aragorn smiled.

"We thought you might want some aid," he answered calmly, not at all impressed by the wizard's stern voice. Gandalf huffed, but didn't contradict him. Instead, he pushed some tiny branches intoAragorn's hands.

"Here. When I say so, you have to light these with the fire over there," he pointed at a torch near the wall, "and give some flame to the candles in the pentagram. Make sure you don't cross the lines!"

"I won't. How long until everything is ready?"

"Not long. At least not if you don't disturb me. Now be of help and sit over there, young king." Grinning, Aragorn retreated, and walked over to Elentìriel. The maiden smiled.

"I told you so."

"I know. But I can light the candles, and you can't," he replied childishly, and was rewarded with a laugh. For the first time in days, the she-elf seemed more at ease. Perhaps seeing the pentagram had calmed her, or perhaps Telperionion had woken in the sun and was talking to her. Whatever it was, Aragorn was grateful for it. Elves seemed to have a peculiar effect on their environment. Their joy could enlighten a room, but when they grieved, the sadness was laid as a suffocating cloak over the city. The king prayed there would be reason to laugh again soon enough.

And that he would share that laugh with Legolas.

Before he could fall in dark thoughts, Gandalf walked over to them.

"I have been calling three times, Estel. You seemed to be deep in thought." Aragorn shook his head incredulously.

"You did? Perhaps you are right, I was thinking about something." He didn't wish to spoil Elentìriel's mood, and didn't elaborate. Instead, he looked at the pentagram.

"The candles?" The wizard nodded.

"The candles. Remember, don't cross the lines!"

"I won't," Aragorn promised, and walked over to the pentagram. Just as he _went_ to kneel, a gust of wind hit his face, almost knocking him over. Frowning, he looked _to_ the south. Dark clouds were assembling above the city, almost blackening the sky. Already, lightning was sending white bolts to enlighten the darkness. A cold wind was growing in strength. Aragorn shivered and looked at Gandalf. The wizard's face was grim, but he merely nodded at Estel.

"Light the candles, young king. It seems Saruman won't let his curse be so easily overthrown, even in death. Make haste!" He walked over to make sure the chalk wasn't blown away, while Aragorn tried to set fire to a piece of wood. Soon enough, he managed to let a spark spring forward, but before it could eat its way into the branch, a gust took it away in darkness. The king cursed softly. He shifted his body to better shelter the branch, but the storm had grown in velocity, and the wind seemed to come from every direction now, swirling around him.

"The wind is too strong!" he cried to Gandalf. By luck, the storm took his words to the wizard, and he turned.

"Do not stop! Keep trying! We need the candles!" Cursing more harshly, Aragorn looked at the wood again, and ricocheted the metals hardly upon each other. There were sparks enough, but none of them lived long enough to set fire to the wood. Absorbed in the battle, Aragorn barely looked up when Elentìriel knelt before him, shielding the flames with her body and forming a protective area with her hands. With her aid, finally the wood was set in fire. Quickly, he lit the candles.

"Mithrandir!"

"I see it! Go inside, young king!"

"But Gandalf-"

"Do as I say!" The wizard stood on the end of the protrusion of stone, facing the storm much as he had once, long ago, faced the Balrog. His staff was aflame and sending white beams in the eye of the storm. Aragorn hesitated.

"Go!"

"Come." Elentìriel took his arm and brought her lips to his ear. "We will only distract him. Let us see to Legolas!"

"Alright!" he screamed back. Together, they struggled their way through the storm. When they reached the gates, they threw all their weight against them to slam them shut. Eventually, that worked. The silence was deafening after the rage of the storm. Disheveled, they looked at each other.

"I hope Gandalf knows what he is doing," Aragorn stated worriedly, staring at the now closed gate.

"I am sure he does." Even though her voice was calm, her eyes were weary too, but she shook her head and took Aragorn's arm impatiently.

"Let us go to Legolas. We are of no use here anymore." The king nodded. Silently, they walked through the paths, until they arrived at the Hall of Healing. There were quite some maidens and servants walking around there, ignoring the thunder that shook the building. Near one of the windows, a group had huddled around a bed with a pale elf in it. When Aragorn and Elentìriel came closer, Faramir looked up.

"How is the ritual going?" Aragorn raised his shoulders.

"I don't know. Saruman must have spoken a protective spell about it. Gandalf is now trying to break it, but he sent us away."

"Can we do something?"

"No." Aragorn sank down on the bed, and studied Legolas. Elentìriel had been right. The prince was not doing well. His skin was almost as pale as the sheets that were covering him, except for his lips**, ** which were red with the blood trickling out of his mouth. Gently, the king swiped it away with a clean rag. The elf didn't move a muscle. He almost looked as if he were dead. Only his difficult, slow breathing indicated that he still lived.

Closing his eyes, Aragorn laid his hand upon Legolas' heart. Beneath his fingers, he felt a slow beating – _too_ slow. It was as if he was fighting every time to beat again, as if he just wanted to go to sleep and stop moving.

Aragorn gulped. When he had been a child, he often had fallen asleep on the elf's chest, listing to the steady drumming of his heart. It had always been strong, assuring him that he was still alive, that the prince wouldn't leave him like his parents had done. He had heard the heart beating rapidly after they had escaped from angry twins, or orcs. He had heard it beating calmly when the elf was sleeping. He had heard it fluttering when he was nervous, or excited, or angry. Now, it seemed as if he had to encourage it to keep drumming, don't stop, don't give up, keep playing the beat to me.

_Hold on, Legolas. Please._

"Aragorn." Disturbed, the king looked at Elentìriel, but she was ignoring him. Instead, she was looking at the gate. A rather sottish wizard had appeared in the gate, and was now striding towards them. He nodded at one of the servants.

"Can you get some hot tea for an old man? With sugar, if you please." The man bowed, a little intimidated before the great wizard and his stubby eyebrows, and hastened away. Groaning, Gandalf let himself fall on the seat Faramir had quickly freed for him. Then, he looked at the friends around Legolas's bed, his eyes lingering on the elf for a second.

"I activated the pentagram. It should work soon now." He looked up, and smiled. "It is over." A sigh of relief was heard. With moist eyes, Eowyn turned to Faramir, who enveloped her in an embrace. Arwen squeezed Aragorn's hand delighted. Only Elentìriel didn't move.

"How long? Before the spell will work?"

"I know not for sure…"

"Guess." The wizard answered her steeled gaze.

"Not long. Minutes, perhaps an hour." Even after these words, Elentìriel only allowed herself a small smile, that didn't reach her eyes. She still looked worried – and Aragorn understood why, now that he had seen Legolas' condition. Something had to change, and quickly. He grabbed the prince' hand.

"Hold on, Legolas. We found the cure. Everything is going to be alright. Just… hold on a little more." Whispering, he examined the elf closely, searching for any sign of chance. Was there a little blush on his cheeks? His breathing going easier? His heart beating stronger? For a moment, he felt hope, but Elentìriel shook her head, sensing what he was thinking.

"Only imagination, Estel. Nothing has changed. Mithrandir, are you certain the spell is working?" The wizard frowned.

"Patience, lady Elentìriel. Magic is an unpredictable thing. As I said before, it can take up to an hour before we see any improvement."

"I don't think we'll have to wait an hour," Faramir said excitedly. "Look!" Quickly, Aragorn followed his pointing finger, and smiled. Two dark brown eyes were blinking, and staring sleepily at them. The young elf – a bard, if Aragorn was not mistaken – was still confused, but he was awake at last. Immediately, Elentìriel went over to his bed to rapidly sooth him in elvish. The young elf smiled.

Everywhere in the Hall, servants and maidens were now rushing to several beds. Sounds of hushed talking and curious questions filled the room. Aragorn smiled, and turned to Legolas, fully expecting to see blue eyes staring back at him, but was disappointed. The young prince was still lying motionlessly and pale on the bed, his eyes closed.

Gently, Aragorn shook his hand.

"Legolas. Wake up. Come on, my friend. It's time to wake." It was to no avail. Worried, the king looked at Gandalf.

"Why doesn't he wake?" To his dismay, the wizard also seemed troubled. He checked his breathing, and laid his hand upon his forehead, and frowned. Aragorn didn't like the look in his eyes at all when he looked at him.

"Estel…" The wizard hadn't called him by his elvish name since he had found out about his heritage. "Legolas has fallen deep in this illness. He has survived the plague longer than anyone here. You must prepare for the worst, Estel." Aragorn shook his head.

"No. I will have none of this! First Elentìriel, now you! Legolas is going to be alright, do you hear me! He can't die! We found the cure!" The wizard sighed, but raised no objections. Instead he looked at the pale prince.

"Then pray, Aragorn. And hope he will find his way back."

And amidst the sounds of waking, a silent circle was formed, waiting.

**As always, please review!**

**Love you all!**

**xXx Archiril**


	11. Epilogue

**Last chapter, my friends! Will he live? Let's find out, I'm not bothering you anymore here ;)**

**BETA: thewayfaringstrangers**

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**Elglor Stargold: Oh, believe me, this wasn't a cliffie :P It was a chapter with an open ending, but not a cliffie ;) If you read some other chapters, you'lle see ;)**

**Jasper6509: A little Luthien then? :P Let's hope it's not needed, I am told Mandos wasn't too happy about that :)**

**ShadowHawq35: Unfortunately, indeed, this story is over. I will start another though fairly soon - I have some time during the exams :) It will feature Kili, I think :) Anyway, thank you :)**

**SpiritArcher55: Thanks again! I hope you'll like this last one too :p**

**TheButterflyCurse996: Ooooh, am not! :P Good actually. I got to 16 pages about the mobility of prostitutues, and I have found they are usually the older children of a family, but not only of poor families (one father was the maire of a city). They were extremely mobile. One went from Chimay (South-East Belgium) to London to Ostende (West Belgium) to Brugges, another went from Ghent to Paris and back! It was interesting, really :)**

**xxxDrSpencerReidxxx: Oh thank you, you really made me smile. I am glad you like it! :)**

**Ynnealay: OMG you're right! Thank you so much for saying, I've fixed it! :) Thank you! :)**

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The elf knelt with a grateful smile, and bowed his head. Then he spread his hands, staying in the typical elven position when they were expressing deep gratitude and a promise to repay the debt.

"We thank you, Lord Estel. The people of Ithilien will forevermore be grateful to you. Speak only a word, and we will try to fulfill your wish." Aragorn forced a smile upon his face.

"I am honored by your kind words, master Nanhîr. I pray your journey home will be swift and uneventful." The elf understood he was given leave to go, bowed once more and strode out of the great hall, his wide clothes rustling quietly. Aragorn watched him disappear around the corner. Once the elf was out of sight, he sagged and covered his eyes with his hands. A soft weight was laid upon his shoulder.

"All of the sick elves have left the city, melleth nin. The plague is over."

"All but one." The hand was removed.

"Yes. All but one. Mithrandir says we need to give him some time." Abruptly, Aragorn rose.

"We have given him time! It has been three days, Arwen! All have healed! Why not him? Why does he still sleep? He is supposed to be healed!"

"He has fought the plague…"

"Aye, I know. He has fought it far longer than anyone else. But shouldn't we at least see some improvement?" Arwen bowed her head, taking his fingers and tracing them with the top of her nails.

"I am sorry, beloved." They were silent for a long time. Distracted, Aragorn followed the patterns Arwen was drawing on his hand, his mind with his best friend. It had been _a _hard few days, seeing the elves wake one after the other, healing, gaining strength, stepping out of bed. He had to see them off and accept their expressions of gratitude, but he couldn't feel truly relieved.

Legolas had shown no signs of waking yet.

Oh, he did understand. Usually, elves lived about a week with the plague, no longer. Legolas had almost survived three weeks. It was only normal he was weaker than the others. And yet, after so many sleepless nights, not a single sign indicated he was improving. It was as if his spirit had already drawn near to the Halls of Awaiting, though his body hadn't realized it yet.

"Go to him," Arwen said softly, but the king shook his head.

"There are things to do still. A delegation will come from Rohan, and there is a meeting this afternoon."

"Which you will not attend, for you will be sick," she answered calmly. "The queen and the steward will have to take over the rule for today, unfortunately." She became serious again. "Estel, melleth nin, you will not hear a single word that will be spoken in the council, for you are worrying about Legolas. Go to him. The realm will not fall apart if you are one day absent from the throne." She took his hand and pulled him up, pointing at the door.

"Go." Defeated, Aragorn raised his hands. As soon as he left the hall, his head felt clearer. Even though he knew better, his heart began to harbor hope again that perhaps, this time, Legolas' condition would have changed.

It was a vain hope. The elf was still lying pale and motionless on the bed, his eyes closed. Aragorn bowed his head and fought against his tears. How long still? When would he see those blue eyes again, smiling up to him? Would the elf ever wake, or was he doomed to linger in this sleeping death? He swallowed with difficulty, and took a seat near the elf.

"It's a shame you aren't awake yet, Legolas. It's a wonderful morning! I am sure you would have enjoyed it. There were some dark clouds at the horizon, and it looked as if they were burning in the night, announcing the birth of Anor." He tried his utmost to keep his voice light and merry, though it was very hard.

"It won't stay that beautiful the whole day though, I fear. It's very windy now. Yes, I know you love that, you always like rough weather, but the air has a scent of rain in it. We might get a storm this evening. Well, perhaps a little moisture will be good. The crops are rather dry lately." He looked at Legolas' face, and sighed.

"But you should be the one telling me that, my dear friend. You are always so sensitive in predicting the weather. Do you remember the time you warned me there would be a storm coming, and that we should return to Rivendell? I didn't believe you, for the day had been a radiant one." He chuckled. "We almost drowned in the pouring rain before we found shelter. Soon afterwards it inundated us. You had to carry me back as if I were a drenched cat, for I had been swept away by the water. I had a pneumonia for weeks!" He smiled down at the elf, his eyes sad.

"I remember you stayed with me day and night. You cooled my forehead when I was thrashing around in a fever, and you sang to me. You even slept in the chair for many nights! Oh Legolas, how I wish I could aid you know like you have aided me!" He closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure again. So focused he was on his breathing, and fighting his tears, that he almost missed it.

Almost. A small tug on his hand. Aragorn's eyes flew open, and he looked at the slender fingers of the prince. He had felt something? Could it be possible? It was not just his imagination… was it? Carefully, the king bowed forward. He licked his lips nervously.

"Legolas? Legolas, if you can hear me, please squeeze my hand again. Please, as hard as you can." The elf remained motionless. Disappointed, Aragorn leant back. Just before he wanted to break his contact with the prince, Legolas' fingers trembled again. It was so feebly, so weak, so unlike the strong, proud Nando-prince he knew that Aragorn could have cried, if he had not been overwhelmed by relief. His voice was thick and trembling with emotion.

"Very good, Legolas. Now, try to open your eyes," he pleaded, staring intently at Legolas' face. Were his eyelids fluttering? "Please, my friend. It is time to wake up. It has been such a long time." He didn't know whether it was because he sounded so desperate, or because it was time for Legolas to wake up, or because the Valar had looked down on him with mercy, but whatever the cause was, Aragorn would thank anyone who would listen for the small miracle, when two hazy, confused eyes focused on the king's face. Smiling broadly, Aragorn bent forward.

"Welcome back my friend." The elf stared at him in wonder for a few seconds, and for a moment, the king was worried the plague had caused lingering damage, before Legolas cracked a smile.

"Estel," he whispered, rough and croaky, but to Aragorn, it was the most beautiful sound ever. He grinned.

"It's good to see you again, my friend." The elf returned the smile, even though his eyelids were dropping again. Aragorn felt a pang of panic. He couldn't fall into sleep again, not so soon after he had woken up. And yet, his healer instincts told him it was the best advice for the elf. It would be a healthy sleep now, not a deathlike one. Aragorn nodded to himself and stroked Legolas' face.

"Go to sleep, my friend. I will be here when you wake up." He had to force the words out of his mouth, but it worked. The elf closed his eyes. Within a minute, his steady breathing indicated he was asleep again. Only when he was certain Legolas was sleeping peacefully, Aragorn leant back, for the first time in months truly relieved. Finally, the nightmare had ended.

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"Legolas, I'm warning you, if you try to get out of the bed, I'll strap you down to it, so help me the Valar!"

"But I'm healed!"

"It has only been four days since you opened your eyes, Legolas. You're anything but healed!"

"It has been a whole four days!"

"Four days is nothing!"

"Says the human."

"Says the healer. And the healer is in command at this moment, so get your legs back in the bed or I swear I am going to get a rope right now!" A few silent seconds, Legolas just looked at him, trying to gauge whether the threat was serious or not. When he found nothing reassuring in the flushed cheeks and burning eyes, he pouted.

"Fine then." Discontent, he threw his legs in the bed again and crossed his arms angrily. He refused to look at the king. Aragorn didn't react to it. He sighed and nodded.

"Good, thank you for your cooperation. And for that, I have brought you a book, one of your favorite." The elf snorted, but didn't look at it. Breathing in deeply, Aragorn laid it on a little table near Legolas' bed and sat down.

"Eowyn will come this afternoon, and if he finds the time, Faramir will join her. You have seen Arwen this morning already." Silence.

"I have made sure your favorite meal will be prepared tonight." Silence. Angrily, Aragorn rose and made ready to leave, slamming the door behind him, but a soft voice stopped.

"I am sorry, Estel." Aragorn inhaled deeply.

"You are most ungrateful, do you know that?"

"Yes." To his surprise, a soft voice answered. "I know. It's just… Estel, I'm becoming crazy between these walls! Please, please let me out." Seldom had Aragorn heard the elf pleading like this. He slowly turned around, looking at Legolas. The prince stared back, a desperate and savage look in his eyes. He truly looked like a caged animal now. Aragorn began to doubt whether his commandment to stay in bed had been a good idea after all.

"In Rivendell, you often stayed in bed for weeks after you had been injured."

"But in Rivendell, I could hear the trees outside. Here, there is only stone! I have heard only echoes of the Song for days. Please, Estel, just one hour in the garden, and I'll stay in bed as long as you want, but please, let me go outside for one moment!" The frustration was evident. Slowly, Aragorn nodded.

"Fine then. But I will carry you. You can't afford to lose any energy, not yet." To his utmost amazement, Legolas didn't even protest. Eagerly, he stretched his arms to the man, and allowed Aragorn to carry him outside. The king made sure to use abandoned roads, so that none would see them. Smiling, Legolas bent forward.

"Thank you, Estel."

"You're welcome." Carefully, Aragorn opened a small gate and strode inside the garden. When he had found a fairly secluded space with a little cascades and some bushes, and where the wind could play freely, he helped Legolas down. Immediately, the elf closed his eyes and laid his hands of the grass, taking in the scent of the wind and the song of the garden. The trees seemed to bend towards him, stretching their branches to caress his hair and face.

Aragorn stayed for a few minutes, then, he sneaked away smiling. At the door, he threw a last glance at the prince. Legolas seemed to be fine. He didn't think the elf would mind staying her throughout the night – not at all, he would guess. Silently, he closed the door.

"I am glad you are back, my friend."

**And we're at the end of the story. I truly hope you enjoyed it, and I am glad you stayed with me even though it took quite some time to update these last chapters. I'm not quiting writing though, the planning of the university was quite hard this semester, that's all. I've been thinking about a story with Kili and Lindir. I'll start working on it as soon as I can, and I hope I can welcome you there again :) As always, any reviews will be answered in the new chapter :)**

**Namarië, and thank you for your wonderful reviews and words of encouragement!**

**xXx Archiril**


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